


I Hold With Those Who Favour Fire

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Carver is the Hero of Ferelden, Chantry Issues, F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Multi, No genuinely I have no idea who is ending up with who at this point, Other, Pairings to be decided - Freeform, Warden Carver Hawke, friendship is important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: Duncan returns to Ostagar with a new recruit, a young man from Lothering, spared from the hangman's noose after he helped his apostate siblings escape the Chantry and Templars. Carver Hawke has always longed for a purpose, and a cause worth fighting for. What better way to carve his name into the annals of history, than by becoming a legendary Grey Warden and helping Ferelden win the battle against the Blight right there at Ostagar.Of course...it doesn't really go to plan.(AU where Carver Hawke is recruited as the Warden and a great many things change. Romances undecided for now...open to suggestions!)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49





	1. Then In An Instant His World Was Shattered

_Then in an instant his world was shattered, for grief is the price of love._

_And he had loved much_

\- The Wander Quest

* * *

As the sloped roofs of Lothering slowly came into view Duncan had to bite down a surge of fresh disappointment.

As the King’s Army slowly trudged towards Ostagar, he’d travelled the length of the Kingdom, searching for promising Grey Warden recruits. Two he’d found, and they were suitable...but barely. 

There was something about a Grey Warden recruit. No matter how good a warrior you were, you could still fall at the Joining. Over the years Duncan had gotten good at picking who absolutely wouldn’t survive...though there were enough borderline cases that were impossible to know.

He knew he needed an exceptional Warden. Someone brave but not stupid, someone intelligent but not crippled by caution, someone...special.

They were heading into a Blight and King Cailan’s excitement over the idea of battles and glory filled Duncan with unease. They were going to need a lot of Wardens, and Duncan couldn’t help but look toward the future. 

His Calling was upon him, he’d die during this Blight he was certain. In his heart of hearts he hoped for the honour of being the one to slay the Archdemon, but he was too practical to allow such vanity to sway him. As long as a Warden struck that final blow, the Blight would be ended.

But what about what came after?

The Wardens would likely be decimated, they always were after a Blight. They’d need a leader. Or failing that, more soldiers.

He’d hoped to find one in Highever, hearing that the youngest Cousland was a formidable archer and talented diplomat. However when he’d arrived at the gates of Castle Cousland he’d discovered Amaranthine troops, and been firmly turned away on the orders of Lord Howe, custodian of the castle.

Next had been the Circle Tower, but they were all a flurry over a scandalous romance and a mage being handed over to the Templars. The Dwarven Kingdom didn’t even open its gates, the Crown Prince having been murdered by his younger sister and the King being stricken with grief.

He’d headed steadily south, hoping against hope that something would happen.

And now he was here, in Lothering, without the recruit he’d been hoping to find.

He walked into the town as the sun began to come up over the horizon and was surprised to find most of the town awake and bustling along the rough flagstone road. Duncan hesitated, glad he wasn’t wearing his official Warden armour, before walking briskly to the door of the tavern.

“Welcome traveller,” the innkeeper nodded at him over his rough hewn counter and Duncan nodded carefully back, “Y’ here for the execution?”

“Execution?” Duncan paused, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m rejoining the army at Ostagar. What execution?”

“Oh, ‘tis a cryin’ shame,” the innkeeper shook his head, making a quiet tutting sound, “Local boy. His twin sister stopped a cart from crushing old Barlin...with magic.”

“Ah…” Duncan accepted the small cup of water, “Brave of her.”

“Aye, or stupid.” the innkeeper shook his head again, “Templars tried t’ arrest her, and the elder brother, Garrett, set them on fire.”

Duncan hid a tiny smile behind a cup, “They do say magic runs in families.”

The innkeeper snorted and rolled his eyes, “It’s a shame though...those Hawke kids were lovely ones. Anyway the Templars went in force t’ their home, t’ retrieve them for the Circle. Took the whole garrison t’ take the younger Hawke down. An’ by the time they forced their way in...t’ mages were long gone.”

Duncan paused mid sip, and lowered his glass.

“He stayed back to hold them off? Is he a mage too?” 

“Aye he stayed, but Carver Hawke used a beaten up ol’ longsword,” the innkeeper shook his head again, “Took down more Templars than the Chantry was comfortable with, just him on ‘is own. We’ve got apostate problems here on the edge of the Wilds, so the Revered Mother decided to make an example of ‘im. Execution.”

“That’s a waste,” Duncan finished off his glass, “What with the Blight, we need good soldiers. Thanks for the tip, my friend.”

He flicked the man a gold sovereign and saw the man’s eyes widen with appreciation.

“Where’s this execution being held?”

* * *

Carver couldn’t sleep, hadn’t been able to all that night knowing that with the coming dawn might be his last.

If the trial went poorly...

He’d kind of always thought it would come down to this. 

His father had started training him, in the loosest sense of the word, because Carver hadn’t been a Mage. Because one day one of his siblings might succumb to the call, to the lure, of a demon and become an Abomination. If that happened then Carver would need to be the one to strike.

But Carver had always known about the other threat lurking, threatening his family. 

He’d studied the Templars stationed at the Lothering Chantry closely over the years. Watched their drills, watched their abilities. He knew they preferred to fight with swords and shields. Most of their sparring was against other templar knights, either using the sword and shield tactics or with a staff to simulate a Mage opponent.

So he’d shaped himself into something else, watching some of the South Reach men-at-arms swinging their mighty claymores. He’d stolen one when it had been discarded, taking the battered weapon home and rewrapping the handle. 

It had been too heavy at first, but with dogged determination and practice he’d grown fitter and fitter.

He’d always wondered if it would end this way...but his heart had still jumped into this throat when Bethany and Garrett burst through the door, Bethany panicked and in tears, and Garrett white-lipped. 

There was no time. 

Someone had to stay behind.

His family was far away now, and he didn’t know where they’d gone. That had been deliberate too. He hadn’t been able to rule out interrogation, the Chantry were dogged about finding Apostates. It was safer if he didn’t know.

The door to his cell rattled and Carver looked up as two Templars banged into the room.

“On your feet maggot.” one of them barked, striding into his cell and yanking him roughly from his bed pallet onto the ground. A boot swiftly connected with his already bruised and aching ribs, and Carver took great delight in spraying the bile from his sick all over the man’s greaves. “Ergh!”

Another hand fisted in his dark hair and he winced as some of the strands caught in the scales of the gauntlet’s fingers and ripped out as he was yanked up and shoved against the wall. His hands were swiftly bound and he found himself being marched out the door, body protesting as he stumbled along with the helmeted men.

Outside the Chantry the crowds were gathered. 

Some were quiet, watching with hard faces. But others spat on him as he passed. 

Neighbours.

Friends.

People he’d known almost his whole life.

He clenched his jaw and kept walking, not looking left or right, keeping his head high. He was a Hawke, and Hawkes didn’t show their hurt or their fear.

The path led to the ancient oak on the hill outside the town, and the crowd followed, many shouting curses, and jeers. The sun had barely broken the horizon and the tree shone gold in the new dawn light.

Beneath it’s branches hung a noose and Carver balked.

“What happened to the trial?”

One of the templars yanked on him, and when he held on grimly, both of them shoved together to get him moving again. “Revered Mother got a letter back from the Arl, telling her to deal with it herself. She knows there’s only one just end to a hedge-born brat like you.”

“This isn’t justice!” Carver snarled, fighting them every inch of the way, until two more Templars joined them and jabbed his ribs with the pommels of their swords.

At the top of the hill Carver saw the Revered Mother waiting patiently, with a heavy expression on her lined brow, hands folded into her sleeves. Sister Leliana was beside her, murmuring rapidly, obviously distressed.

Once Carver reached the peak of the hill the Revered Mother brushed Leliana gently aside and stepped forward, lifting her arms to the crowd, which immediately quietened down.

“Good people of Lothering, this is a solemn hour. We come to return Carver Hawke to the Maker-”

Carver couldn’t keep quiet any longer and snapped.

“That’s a fancy way of you saying you’re murdering me without a trial!”

The crowd stirred restively and Carver groaned as another gauntleted fist drove into his side. The Revered Mother gave him another look that could peel paint from the walls, and continued.

“-for his crimes. Guilty of murdering 20 of the Maker’s Templars.”

“Wish it had been more.” Carver groaned and yelped as his knee was kicked out from under him.

“Guilty of harboring and sheltering dangerous apostates.”

He tried to speak, but the Templar on his left shoved a balled up rag into his mouth.

“May the Maker bless us all...and restore Carver Hawke to his light in death.”

Carver growled around the gag and choked as he was yanked up once more, the noose fitting snugly around his neck.

“Hold.”

The man’s voice was smooth, and it had the note of someone who was used to giving orders that he knew would be obeyed.

Carver looked over in surprise to see a man with smooth brown skin, an arched nose and jet black hair tied back off his face. He wore the blue and silver armour of a Grey Warden, and his eyes were fixed on Carver.

“How can we help you...serrah Warden?” The Revered Mother asked, but there was a bite to her tone.

“I wish to recruit this young man.” the stranger spoke slowly, but clearly and showed no surprise or alarm when his announcement was met with outcry from the people gathered, “He will be of far more use to the Wardens than he would be as a corpse.”

“We cannot-” 

“Then I invoke the Right of Conscription.” The Warden interrupted smoothly, unruffled by the obvious annoyance on the Revered Mother’s face, “As is my right.”

“That-” the Revered Mother seethed for a moment before she nodded to the Templars holding Carver, “Is your right, Warden.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother.” The man walked up the hill as Carver was freed from his bonds and gaped at him, “We should leave.”

Outcry broke out among the spectators and the Templars bristled, hands on the hilts of their blades.

“Yeah…” Carver nodded quickly, looking out over the crowd, “Yeah that sounds like a good plan.”

For a second his eyes rested on Sister Leliana, and saw the relief on her face, before he took one last look at the village and the people who had been his home for so long.

Then he turned away and with the Warden by his side, setting a swift pace, the pair headed for the Ferelden Highway south into the Wilds.

* * *

They didn’t stop until mid morning, and the Warden steered them just off the road to a small clearing, one that was well used, by the looks of it. There the Warden offered him food, and smiled faintly as Carver descended on the bread with voracious hunger. The Templars hadn’t fed him for a day or two, had left the food just out of his reach to torment him.

It had only solidified in his mind that he’d done the right thing. 

Thinking of men like them in charge of Garrett...of Bethany. Garrett could do with being taken down a peg or two, but he’d never want his brother hurt. And Bethany. He would have done a lot more than slaughter a few Templars to ensure his twin sister was safe and happy. 

Carver swallowed the bite of bread and looked up at the Warden, who was eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Did you mean it?” he asked carefully, “Recruiting me to the Grey Wardens? Or were you just saving me from the rope.”

The Warden chuckled softly, “We are not known for our pity. We have one mission, the Darkspawn and the Blight. There is no room for pity in that singular purpose. I’ve been travelling around Ferelden looking for recruits. A man like you shows promise. Too much promise to leave you to the end of a rope’s noose.”

That...was actually kind of gratifying to hear, but he was still trying to get his head around his abrupt change in circumstances.

“So you saved me to fight Darkspawn…?”

An amused smile touched the man’s lips, “That is a simplification of it...but yes. In essence.”

Grey Wardens were supposed to be heroes, legendary warriors, and here he was being offered a place in their ranks. It was like a dream come true.

And that made him suspicious.

“How can I trust you?”

A deep chuckle left the Warden’s lips, “If I wanted you dead boy, I would have let you swing.”

Carver had to grudgingly acknowledge his point and took another bite of bread.

“The Wardens are a second chance, a path to a life of meaning...and a family bound by a common purpose. Who you were before you undertake the Joining means nothing. This is not a commitment to be undertaken lightly.”

“So I can say no?” Carver asked, after swallowing his bite of food, because if he’d asked with his mouth full, and sprayed the Grey Warden with crumbs, his mother might die of shame wherever in Ferelden she was. 

The Warden paused and considered him, “No. I invoked the Right of Conscription to save you. It’s power is in its inviolability. You are a Grey Warden recruit. You could run away but...you do not strike me as the type.” 

He had that right at least.

Though he didn’t like not having a choice in the matter, the idea of being a Warden definitely appealed. His life in Lothering was over, his family was Maker only knew where, and he’d always wanted something...a purpose.

So he nodded, “Alright then, lead on.” 

The Warden chuckled softly at that and nodded, “I appreciate your cooperation. I am Duncan, leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

“Carver Hawke,” Carver nodded, “Though I’m sure you knew that.”

Duncan shot him a wry smile, “Indeed I did.”

* * *

“That is the ruin of Ostagar,” Duncan informed him a few days later, as their destination loomed ahead of them, “On the edge of the Korcari Wilds. The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago, to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. It’s fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within these forests.”

“And this is where all the armies have been marching off to?” Carver asked, looking up at the ruined spires and towers. “I was headed out to sign up when...everything happened. And in the end I got here anyway. Strange how fate works isn’t it.”

“I try not to believe in fate,” Duncan informed him softly, shaking his head slightly, “I believe we should remain in the now, and do what we can. The Darkspawn are enough of a threat to keep us locked to the present.”

“And you think the Darkspawn are heading this way?”

Duncan nodded, “The King's forces have clashed with the Darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself.” He glanced over at Carver and smiled slightly, “There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here.”

“All of them?” Carver frowned slightly as they crossed the giant causeway, “Surely it would be wiser to keep some in reserve in case the battle should go badly.”

“No,” Duncan’s voice was heavy, “This Blight must be stopped. Here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall.”

Carver felt a surge of denial at the thought of his homeland falling to the darkspawn and he looked up to see an expression of quiet amusement on Duncan’s face.

The man had seen it. Of course.

“Ho there! Duncan!” 

The two of them turned sharply at the jovial tone, as a handsome, blond haired man strode up to them, wearing a set of golden coloured plate armour like it was air. He had a bright smile on his face, and his blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“King Cailan!” Duncan sounded surprised, “I didn’t expect-”

“A royal welcome?” the King of Ferelden laughed and Carver had to subtly pinch himself to remind himself that he was indeed awake and that this apparently was his life. A life where the King of bloody Ferelden was standing right there in front of him, “I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun.”

“Not if I could help it, Your Majesty.” Duncan’s voice had taken on the smooth timbre he’d used when addressing the Revered Mother back in Lothering.

Carver didn’t like it, he much preferred it when Duncan spoke bluntly and honestly, to when this charming manipulative side reared its ugly head. It reminded him far too much of his brother’s brand of charm. 

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all.” The King relaxed, tossing his blond hair back, “Glorious!”

Then the man’s blue eyes flicked over to Carver and he felt his chest seize with anxiety.

“The other Wardens told me you were looking for a promising recruit. I take it, this is he?”

“Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty.” Duncan interjected smoothly as King Cailan wandered over to stand before Carver.

“No need Duncan. You are Ferelden, are you not?” King Cailan’s eyes were bright and interested, and there was a smile on his lips that made Carver’s twitch up in response.

“From Lothering, Your Majesty.” 

“Ah yes Lothering, I remember it from the journey here. It seemed like a charming village. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar…” his voice trailed off and Carver realised suddenly that the man wanted him to introduce himself.

“Hawke, Carver Hawke.”

King Cailan’s eyes widened and Carver realised with a jolt that his name was familiar to the man.

“Hawke…Where have I heard that name…” He shifted for a second before he snapped his fingers, or tried to. The gauntlets hampered the motion, “You’re the brother of those apostate mages the Chantry is hunting! We heard the story a day or two ago when the South Reach troops arrived.”

Carver glanced at Duncan whose face remained completely impassive.

“They-” Carver caught Duncan’s eye who gave him a sharp shake of his head. He revised what he was going to say, albeit reluctantly, “are hopefully far beyond the Chantry’s reach, Your Majesty. And safe.”

King Cailan’s expression was sympathetic but Carver could feel his attention shifting.

“I hope one day you will see them again. I’m sorry to cut this short but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

He laughed, and Carver tried not to gawp at him like a country bumpkin. Loghain Mac Tir, a living legend, the Hero of the River Dane. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d played at being Loghain with his brother and sister. Garrett had always wanted to be King Maric and Bethany wanted to be Queen Rowan, weird as it was. Carver hadn’t minded. 

He’d always wanted to be Loghain. The commoner who had proven his worth, and his loyalty. The man who had saved his King and Kingdom.

How could anyone laugh like listening to that legendary man’s plans for a battle wouldn’t be fascinating?

Duncan caught his gaze warningly once more, before stepping closer to the King.

“Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week…”

“Ha!” King Cailan let out a bark of laughter and gestured playfully, “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve already won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

Duncan and Carver glanced at each other again, and this time Carver asked the question on his lips.

“It’s been going that well?”

“I’m not even sure this is a true Blight.” King Cailan sighed and turned to look out over the fields of Ostagar, “There are plenty of darkspawn on the field but alas we’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.”

“Disappointed, Your Majesty?” There was a dryness to Duncan’s tone that make Carver smirk faintly, but the tone seemed lost on the King still facing away from them.

“I’d hoped for a war like in the tales. You know a King riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But I suppose this will have to do.” He turned around and sighed ruefully at them, grinning in that infectious way of his, “Now I must go...before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.”

Carver bowed as Duncan inclined his head, and the King disappeared back over the bridge, gesturing broadly to one of his guards as he went.

The two men watched him go in silence, before Duncan quietly turned to Carver, “What the King says is true. They have won a number of skirmishes here against the Darkspawn.”

There was something in his voice and Carver glanced up at him as the pair of them began their own stroll, “The King called them battles, you call them skirmishes. You think there is more behind them?”

“I do indeed,” Duncan nodded gravely, “All Blights are led by an Archdemon, and it is his call that drives them. There are countless Darkspawn, numbers are of no consequence to them. The only way to end the Blight is to kill the Archdemon. And yet the Archdemon has not been seen. I cannot ask the King to act solely on my feelings.”

Carver paiused halfway across the bridge and Duncan turned back to face him, “You think the Archdemon is testing our forces.”

Duncan nodded gravely, “You are astute, Carver Hawke. The Darkspawn now outnumber us and so the Battle tomorrow concerns me greatly.”

Carver nodded slowly, and looked out into the wilderness around them, “That’s why you mentioned the reinforcements.”

“Indeed. I’d hoped he would take advantage of them.”

“Is it that dire?” Carver looked at him, and caught a brief flicker of something in Duncan’s dark eyes, “Ah…”

“I will see what the Grey Wardens can do.” Duncan assured him gently, giving him a thoughtful look before leading him across the bridge, “I have business to attend to, so I suggest you go find the Grey Warden tents. There you’ll find the Grey Warden quartermaster, and requisition a set of armour and whatever weapons you favour. You’re one of us now after all. It is time you look the part.”

Carver couldn’t help the thrill of pleasure at the thought, real armor, his very own set. And yet again he saw the man’s lips quirk up in the corners with faint amusement.

“I can do that,” Carver nodded, and Duncan smiled wryly, gesturing at the campsite perched in the ruins.

“Good. Once you’re outfitted I want you to look for a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair. He’s been tasked with preparing you and the other recruits for the Joining.”

Carver couldn’t help but notice the subtle inflection on the word Joining, emphasising it. The Joining. Capitals and all.

He nodded and Duncan shot him another small smile, before heading off down one of the other paths towards the valley floor, leaving Carver all alone.

For a moment he looked back the way he’d come, towards Lothering, towards the north, where his family was hopefully safe and sound. He experienced a moment of longing, but resolutely turned away and strode into the camp. 

He can’t go back now.


	2. With Any Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver settles in at Ostagar and meets the junior member of the Grey Warden order, Alistair.

_With any luck,_

_We'll never find the things that we are looking for_

_and,_

_instead_

_We become them._

**Jarod Wabick**

* * *

The armor felt like it was made for him.

It was also heavy, but he’d expected that. What he hadn’t expected was the rush of pleasure he’d gotten when the tabard slid over his new dark blue tunic, and the breastplate buckled over the top.

“It’s a bit stiff now, but with a bit of wear it’ll settle onto your frame.” The quartermaster mused, nodding thoughtfully, “Should see you through this campaign. When we’re back in Denerim we’ll get a set built to your measurements. You’re a big lad, a custom set of heavy armour would suit you I think.”

Carver flexed his hands in the gauntlets and grinned.

“I look forward to it.”

“Uh huh,” the man looked amused and beckoned him over to a giant weapons rack. “Here lad, choose which one you like.”

The greatswords were all of far better quality than his old battered, chipped and now shattered greatsword back home, and Carver couldn’t help running the tips of his gauntlets along the smooth iron.

He was drawn to the larger ones at the far end of the rack, but when he picked up the biggest and hefted it high...it didn’t feel quite right in his hands. So he slipped it back and tugged a number of different ones out of the rack. All of them feel better than his battered sword, but still don’t feel just right.

After a few tries, he hefted out a slightly thinner one, with the warden griffin stamped in the crossguard.

This one felt right, felt balanced, and when he gave an experimental slash, it made him smile.

When he turned, the Quartermaster gave him an appraising look, “Interesting that you would choose that blade…”

“Really?” Carver glanced down at it, it seemed rather nondescript to him, “What’s wrong with it?”

The Quartermaster laughed heartily, “Nothing lad. Just you don’t seem to have had much of a formal education in the way of the sword. You chose one of the better quality blades in the bunch. Bit of a natural.”

Carver shot him a grin and ducked his head, fingering the Griffin, “It’s my first blade. Other than a second hand one I saved from the scrapheap.”

“You wouldn’t know it.” The man nodded approvingly, “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you lad.”

Warmth blossomed in Carver’s chest and stayed with him as he left the sheltered corner of the ruins, sword strapped to his back. 

* * *

His next mission was finding the Warden Alistair, as Duncan had told him. The only trouble was he didn’t have the first clue where to look, and scanning his gaze around the campsite he saw a number of areas where a Grey Warden could be.

To the right he saw the standard of the King, along with one he recognised as bearing the sigil of Loghain Mac Tir and of Gwaren. They stood apart from the others, surrounded by heavily armed guards.

Knowing that he was unlikely to find his Warden gude there, he headed off in the opposite direction.

Slowly he began to walk, exploring the camp with interest. 

At the top of a gentle incline he came across a series of circular courtyards where the wounded were being tended to by Chantry sisters and Mages. The air in the area was hushed, apart from the soft moans and groans of the men who lay there.

The sharp copper tang of blood hung in the air, and occasionally he caught a nasty whiff as he walked through the rows of cots. The reality of the war being waged was abruptly sobering, and Carver couldn’t help but stop and stare at the sight of men with thick, black veins scrawling over their skin and limbs. 

Nearby a Chantry sister and a mage bickered bitterly.

“I thought you were supposed to be a healer!” the Chantry sister’s voice cracked, “Heal them!”

“I can’t!” the Mage sounded equally distraught, “There is no cure for the Darkspawn Taint…”

“It resists your foul magic, because your kind brought it’s corruption into this world!” the sister snarled and Carver came to a sharp stop before he turned and faced them.

The Mage was a young woman, with soft fair hair that was twined in a bun. The strands were escaping and she looked harried, eyes red like she had been weeping. The Chantry sister looked equally worn out, and so Carver quickly stepped between them, hands raised in a calming gesture, “That’s enough of that, both of you.” 

The Chantry sister looked startled, while the Mage just looked pathetically grateful, “My apologies Warden.” the sister murmured, looking away, “It is...just so hard to see the innocent suffer.”

“You both share the same aim, helping the wounded.” Carver nodded at them both, “Remember that. Arguing in front of them is hardly going to give them peace.”

Both of them looked chastened, and the Mage nodded meekly, “I’d best get back to treating some of the wounds.”

“I’ll make some poultices.” the chantry sister murmured, and turned away.

“Thank you Warden,” the mage whispered softly before slipping into the depths of the camp.

The warmth in Carver’s chest grew. 

No one had ever valued his opinion in such a way before. It was a little heady. He wished he could show off to Garrett, brag about being chosen by the Grey Wardens...but his brother was far beyond his reach now.

So he contented himself with a small smile and kept moving.

* * *

He finally found Alistair near the ruined hall of Ostagar.

The man was young, about Carver’s age actually, and he wore the heavier style of Grey Warden armour as well. Except where Carver had the greatsword strapped to his back, he could already see the shape of a shield on Alistair’s.

He wasn’t alone. Beside him was a man wearing red circle mage robes. He had broad features and right then they were crumpled in a dark scowl, directed solidly at Alistair.

“-does you no credit.” the man snapped, clearly beyond irritated,

“And here I thought we were getting along so well!” Alistair’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “I was going to name one of my children after you…” he paused and his lips quirked up, “The Grumpy One.”

The Mage made a whistling noise like a pot boiling over a fire, dark cheeks flushing an even darker red.

“Fine! I will talk to the woman if I must. Get out of the way fool!” he barked the last words at Carver, who arched his eyebrow at the man, stepping aside with a mocking gesture. The mage stormed off, the air crackling behind him with some arcane energy.

It made Carver smile a little with nostalgia.

“You know...one good thing about the Blight, is how it brings people together.” Alistair remarked wistfully, as he watched the man walk away and Carver couldn’t help his eyebrow inching up towards his hairline.

“It’s like a party!” the blond man continued, grinning infectiously. Carver shook his head at him, lip curling up wryly.

“You’re either brave or insane, antagonising a Mage like that.” He informed the other Grey Warden, “Take it from someone who knows...intimately, sometimes you’ll get your hair set on fire.”

“Ah but haven’t you heard?” the blond haired man arched an eyebrow at him, “We’re all supposed to be ‘getting along’,” and his tone showed just what he thought of that idea, “although I don’t think anyone, but the Grey Wardens, got that lecture.”

“Did you get the lecture?” Carver folded his arms and arched his eyebrow right back, “I mean I did just see you yanking a Mage’s pigtails. So to speak.”

Alistair rolled his eyes, and sighed, “I got it...but the Mage was already mad at me being the messenger boy. Anyway, I don’t think we’ve met have we?”

“No,” Carver shook his head, “I’m Carver. Duncan told me to find you after the Quartermaster.”

Alistair’s face cleared instantly, “You’re the last recruit! I apologise, I should have twigged to that a lot earlier. I’m Alistair, though you probably already knew that.”

At Carver’s nod, Alistair smiled warmly, “Well, welcome to the Grey Wardens then. I’m sure you’ll get your own version of the ‘getting along with everyone’ speech soon.”

Carver thought of Duncan’s silent admission of how dire the situation in the army was, and pulled a face, “We do have to work together. The Darkspawn won’t care if we hate each other or not.”

“That’s true…” Alistair eyed him thoughtfully, “Have you ever fought one before?” Carver shook his head and the blond haired man shuddered, “I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous they were. But you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough. Anyway as the junior member of the order I’ll be helping you as you prepare for the Joining.”

Again Carver could almost feel the capitalisation of the word.

“What is the Joining exactly?” Carver folded his arms, “Everyone’s being very mysterious about it.”

“That, I can’t tell you.” Alistair shook his head, “Sorry, but it’s tradition and important. You know how it is…” he walked past Carver with all the nonchalance of a Bard acting to children, and the dark haired man fell into step beside him, even as he rolled his eyes at the man's inability to deflect, “What I can tell you is that we’ll be heading out into the Wilds soon.”

Carver nodded and Alistair shot him another look, “The Wilds don’t scare you?”

“Anyone with sense would be cautious about the Wilds,” Carver drawled back as they clanked their way down the ramp towards the campsite proper, “Enough people have never come back from their depths, for us to know they’re dangerous.” he shot Alistair a sideways look, “Which I’m guessing is part of the point.”

Alistair nodded, “That’s where the Darkspawn are.”

“They were dangerous before the Darkspawn,” Carver muttered back, “Lots of tales of witches and apostates and monsters have come out of those swamps and forests.”

The pair of them passed by an encampment of tents with Templars stationed at an entrance, and more people wearing the Circle robes moving to and fro.

“So why was the Mage already mad?” Carver asked, and Alistair shot him a questioning look, “The one you antagonised before.”

“Oh! Right…” Alistair pulled a face, “The Revered Mother deliberately asked for me to be the one to deliver the message. Could have been because I’m the lowest ranked Warden...but more likely it was as an insult to the Mage…” he winced and sighed, “You see...I used to be a Templar.”

Ice lanced down Carver’s spine and he straightened sharply. He’d been enjoying Alistair’s company, relaxing into it almost, but this revelation instantly put him back on his guard.

“A Mage hunter.”

“Not quite,” Alistair sighed, seemingly unaware of his companions sudden alertness, “I was only in training, I was sent to the Chantry when I was young. Duncan saw how unhappy I was there and recruited me. I’ll always owe him for that…”

“So you didn’t want to be a Templar?” Carver asked, cautiously.

“I hated it.” Alistair shrugged, “Not the combat training, that was alright, but...it wasn’t the life I wanted. Anyway the Revered Mother sent me with the message as a way of subtly thumbing her nose at the Mage. And the Mage picked right up on it.”

It sounded like the kind of pettiness the Chantry would indulge in, especially since the Mage would have no method of recourse.

He considered Alistair as they walked together, the man filling the air with idle chit chat about the Grey Wardens he'd meet soon. He seemed young, idealistic...a bit of a goofball but in a completely different way to Garrett's calculated sarcasm and charm. No Alistair seemed to lack any guile...and he'd seemed to genuinely dislike being a Templar. 

The incident with the mage seemed more like Alistair using his burbling because of nerves rather than personal feelings about magic users. 

Of course he'd only just met the man...but he'd gotten a pretty strong impression so far.

The pair of them headed into the main body of the camp and over towards the Grey Warden tents near one of the big fire-pits, the Grey Warden griffon flying on the pennant above the sapphire blue tents.

They were halfway across the grass when Carver’s gaze was caught on a series of enclosures around one of the great columns. He could see Mabari warhounds within them, and he paused as he caught sight of some men crouching beside a beast that was half laying down, whimpering.

The family mabari had gone with his family, with his brother. And Carver sucked in a sharp breath at the pang of homesickness that lanced through his gut. He’d always been jealous of Garrett for earning the trust of one of the mighty dogs, but now…

Slowly he walked over, ignoring Alistair’s questioning look, and soon he could hear the conversation.

“-not much we can do for him…” the man clad in leather armour murmured sadly, “Poor lad.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Carver couldn’t help but ask as three heads shot up to look at him, canine and human alike.

The men took in his and Alistair’s Grey Warden armour and relaxed, turning back to the dog before them.

“He got a mouthful of darkspawn blood trying to defend his master in the last battle,” the man in leather shook his head, “Doesn’t affect them in quite the same way it does us humans, but sometimes it makes them mighty sick.” He petted the beast’s mighty head as he whined sadly.

“What happened to his master?” Carver asked, and the men winced, “Ah…” he pulled a face and quickly changed the topic, “Is there no way to help him?”

“Word is there is a flower in the wilds, white with a blood red centre.” the man murmured, “Used properly it can help dogs with the Taint. Gives them a boost so to speak. Pity it can’t help the poor sods over there…” his eyes trailed towards the infirmary, and Alistair shifted beside Carver, “Sadly that’s not going to help this poor lad. No one’s heading out into the Wilds any time soon, not with the Darkspawn so close.”

Carver shot Alistair a look and the man gave him an exasperated look back, “We’re going into the Wilds right?”

“Well...yeah but...we’re going to be fighting Darkspawn, not picking flowers…”

“Still...if we see one,” Carver turned back to the leather clad man, “I’ll bring it back.”

“Thank you Warden.” the man nodded, looking a touch relieved as he pet the dog’s shovel of a head, “This one is a fine specimen of a warhound...would be a shame to lose him.”

Carver nodded and got to his feet, giving the dog a last look before he followed Alistair away.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my couple of months as a Warden it’s this…” the blond haired man remarked, shooting Carver another unreadable look, “Be careful what you volunteer for.”

He shook his head, “I’ve got this.”

“Uh huh,” Alistair remarked wryly, “I believe you.”

Carver glanced over and saw Alistair peeking back at him skeptically, making him scowl.

“Shut up,” he muttered, before the two of them continued their way to the Grey Warden encampment.

* * *

The other two Warden recruits are...well..they’re fine.

Ser Jory is a nervous and blustering barrel chested man, who wears his plate mail like it’s nothing. His broadsword is longer and thinner than Carver’s new blade, in the Highever style. 

The other is named Daveth, a cheerful thief from Denerim, who grew up here in the Korcari borderlands as a boy.

“I’m going to get a complex walking around with you lot,” the shorter and slighter built thief remarked dryly, eyeing his three companions, “Hasn’t anyone told any of you that it’s not size that matters, but where you stick your blade that counts?”

Jory spluttered, appalled. Alistair blinked at him in confusion before he looked over at Carver with a questioning expression. Carver bit the inside of his cheek and struggled not to smile.

It was the kind of joke his brother would have made.

And it was funny when it came from someone else’s mouth rather than Garrett’s. Garrett’s smug puns and quips made him want to punch his brother in the nose...but Daveth’s wiggling eyebrows made it hard to fight back the snickers.

Duncan let out the long, long suffering sigh that only someone in charge could make and gave them all stern looks.

“The first task of your Joining is to travel into the Korcari Wilds,” he informed them all, voice still even, despite his exasperation, “There you will face the monstrous Darkspawn and bring back 3 vials of blood, one of each recruit.”

It made sense, Carver thought as he nodded, the Grey Wardens’ primary purpose was to fight the Blights, to fight Darkspawn. Of course their initiation ritual would involve fighting the monstrous creatures.

“Your second task is not technically a part of your Joining, but is nonetheless extremely important. There was once a Grey Warden fortress here in the southern wilds, until it became impossible to maintain. Many things were left behind, within it, sealed to protect them from the elements. One of them is a chest of treaties signed by every race, with promises to aid us in the event of a Blight. We had hoped to reclaim them long before now, but were unable to. Your task is to travel to the ruined keep and find the treaties.”

“You think they will still be inside?” Carver asked, when his companions simply nodded.

Duncan inclined his head solemnly, “The chest is magically protected. Only a Grey Warden could hope to open it.”

It was a lot of trouble they were going to- to retrieve documents the Wardens hadn’t needed for hundreds of years...but Carver was once again reminded of Duncan’s concerns. Obviously he planned to use the treaties to bring them more aid once they survived the battle the following evening.

And what made a Grey Warden a Grey Warden? It didn’t seem like it was simply being chosen...it sounded like this Joining would give them abilities...or powers. How else would only a Grey Warden be able to open it.

Carver snorted quietly at his fantastical thoughts. It was probably, simply that the Grey Wardens had the key to break the enchantment, that there was an object encoded into the spell. 

He was being jumpy about the secrecy of the joining for no reason.

So he simply nodded.

Duncan met Carver’s gaze, “If that’s everything, then you should be on your way. You need to be back here at the camp by sundown, the Wilds are not a place to wander in the dark.”

Alistair saluted, arms crossed over his chest, and the others quickly followed, earning a wry smile from Duncan.

As they headed off towards the gate to the Wilds, Carver looked back and found Duncan’s eyes firmly locked on him.

The dark eyed man gave him a small smile, but his expression was more thoughtful than anything else, holding Carver’s gaze for long moments before both of them looked away.

And Carver was more sure than ever that Duncan was not a man to underestimate..or cross.


	3. I Met You As A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkspawn, Wilderness, Witches, Oh MY!

I met you as a stranger,

Took you as a friend.

\- Mizscorpio

* * *

They were barely an hour's walk from the encampment at Ostagar before they came across a slaughtered patrol and an injured soldier who had dragged himself further up the path towards the army.

Alistair and Carver had patched him up, Carver doing the bandaging while Alistair helped maneuver the soldier so they could get him back on his feet.

Once they got him up, Daveth materialised out of the nearby scrub with a sturdy branch, the perfect height for a walking cane and they sent the man reluctantly on his way.

“We can’t,” Alistair had insisted when Ser Jory tentatively asked if they should escort him back to the camp, “We have a mission to complete and we have to get it done before nightfall.”

And that was the end of that.

But it put them all on edge.

* * *

It wasn’t long before they came across a darkspawn scouting party. 

They’d been walking down a path through a marshy bit of bog, when Alistair paused and held up his hand, halting them all.

“Darkspawn ahead,” he murmured, and Carver carefully unsheathed his sword from its place, strapped to his back, looking around them cautiously.

“How can you know that?” Ser Jory had unclipped his sword as well, and was scanning the misty marshes with undisguised anxiety, “How can you see anything in this blasted place?”

“I…” Alistair hesitated for a second and Carver looked over at him sharply, seeing a surprisingly conflicted expression on the other man’s face, “I’ve been trained for this.” he finished firmly, and his face cleared, but Carver frowned, certain of what he’d seen, “Trust that I know there are Darkspawn ahead of us.”

Daveth had nocked an arrow, and nodded at the path, “Maybe we should go introduce ourselves.”

“These are the Wilds, not a garden party!” Ser Jory hissed, and Carver rolled his eyes. Clearly the man had missed the point. By a mile.

Alistair was hesitating too, and Carver knew that if they kept dithering they’d get nowhere...or the element of surprise in their favour would be lost.

“Quiet.” he hissed at the bickering rogue and warrior, the latter of whom gawped at him offendedly as he did, “We’ll sneak up on them if we can.” He turned to Alistair, “How far?”

“Next clearing…” The blond haired man looked relieved that someone else was making the decisions, “maybe about five of them?”

Carver nodded and turned to Daveth, “You’re light on your feet, go have a look and report back, maybe we can hit them from multiple sides.”

It had been the best strategy when he and Bethany had taken on Garrett, or their father. And really those childhood games were all he had to rely on. Not that anyone else was really offering anything better.

Daveth nodded, and promptly disappeared into the Marsh, causing Alistair’s eyebrows to shoot up to his hair and Carver to blink at the spot he’d vanished from.

“Makes you wonder how he got caught, doesn’t it…” 

Alistair laughed quietly and nodded.

Jory grumbled at them and Carver bit down the sharp comment that had sprung to his lips.

Moments later Daveth returned and crouched down with Alistair and Carver, “You were right, there’s five there...little short ones and one big one.”

“Genlocks and Hurlocks.” Alistair murmured frowning, “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Carver made a note to learn more about the darkspawn varieties as soon as possible.

“Alright…” everyone looked at him expectantly, including Alistair, and Carver huffed softly, “Alright well...sneaking up on them is an impossibility.” he eyed Alistair’s, Jory’s and his own heavy armour, “And if they catch us in a marshy position we’ll be in trouble…”

The three men nodded and the expectant looks remained.

Carver had a moment of panic, deep in his chest. He’d played at war with his siblings. His father had trained him in the basics of using a sword, but he’d never had formal training. Alistair was a Grey Warden, Ser Jory was a Knight! Why were they looking at him like he had the answers?

Because, the little voice at the back of his head murmured softly, they’ve always been given orders to follow. You’ve never wanted to follow orders.

He sighed for a moment and steeled himself.

“Daveth, get behind them and up somewhere where they won’t be able to stab you...can you make any bird noises?”

Ser Jory snorted derisively before spluttering as Daveth made a perfect marsh swallow’s throaty trill.

Carver smirked, “Perfect. Make that sound when you’re in position.”

“What are we going to do?” Alistair asked softly.

“We’re going to go as quietly as we can until we get to dry footing...and then we charge.”

Alistair nodded and braced his shield on his arm as Daveth slipped away once more, silent and swift. 

The three of them waited silently, until the trill broke the air. Carver nodded at the two men beside him and they slowly made their way forward until they reached the edge of the solid tussock and the path.

Once they were all on, Carver nodded and took off, Alistair beside him as they thundered into the clearing.

And Carver was forced to agree that Alistair had been correct. He wasn’t prepared, not really, not for the reality of the beasts.

There seemed to be different types of them. The short stocky ones had mouths dominated by rows of slavering teeth. Their eyes were slitted and white, and their skin seemed almost damp, slick with some dark ichor that could be blood. The tall one was just as monstrous, and the gaping maw of its mouth opened on a roar as the humans charged into the clearing.

The stench off them was horrendous and he heard Ser Jory gag behind him, but Carver didn’t stop.

He barrelled past the first, slashing with his blade before he practically tackled the human sized darkspawn, sending it stumbling back with a snarl.

He heard the whistle of an arrow through the air and knew Daveth was nearby, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the darkspawn...the hurlock...in front of him.

The beast slashed at him with a terrible, serrated short blade and he brought up his blade to deflect before he surged forward, his sword sliding out from under the other to slash against the beast's armour. The creature snarled as it stumbled again, before recovering and flinging itself at Carver.

He ducked the vicious swing of the blade, feeling it clang against his pauldrons as it cut back towards him, and he lunged back, the sword sweeping past, leaving the hurlock exposed.

Swiftly he slashed and sent the monsters head rolling, black blood splattering the ground as he whirled to see how the fight was progressing.

A genlock lay nearby, riddled with arrows, dead and unmoving, but just beyond that he saw Alistair holding his own against two of the beasts, his shield keeping them at bay. Ser Jory was a little further off, his genlock struggling against the knight and the rogue, who was alternating between firing arrows at it and the ones circling Alistair.

Carver could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he charged back into the fray, surging towards one of Alistair’s genlocks with a sharp “Hyah!”

The beast whirled to deal with him, and Alistair whipped around to face the other beast, engaging it in earnest. Carver slammed into his new foe, armour taking some of the brunt of the assault as he deflected the attack and impaled the beast, straight through the belly. It slid slowly off his blade and he looked around to see all the darkspawn dead and Daveth picking his way down off his vantage point.

Alistair grinned at him, green gold eyes alight with the same exhilaration that was pumping through Carver.

Panting but thrilled, Carver couldn’t help but grin back.

* * *

They collected the blood in the vials, Jory making disgusted, gagging sounds as Alistair insisted he collect his own.

Carver knelt beside the decapitated hurlock, and quickly filled the vial with the thick black blood, stoppering it and sealing it with wax, "Maker that's disgusting,"

As the others bickered the blue eyed warrior looked around the clearing, watching as Daveth retrieved his arrows from the corpses of his victims, at a raven sitting on a low branch, eyeing the carnage with its head cocked to the side.

He considered the bird for a long moment, wondering why he couldn’t look away. It looked like a normal bird, but it sat still, golden eyes sharp as it watched them back.

Forcing himself to look away, Carver spotted something else of interest, and grinned as he tramped over to a nearby log. Gently he plucked the white flower, with the blood red centre, and tucked it carefully into a pouch attached to his belt.

When he turned back he saw the others were ready to go, and Alistair was giving him a knowing, and amused look.

Rolling his eyes, Carver strode past him, nudging him as he went, “Shut your bloody face.”

And Alistair’s laughter followed him as they headed out, deeper into the wilds.

* * *

Hours later, none of them were laughing any more.

It had been a hard slog through the misty landscape, avoiding the darkspawn patrols as much as they could. The sun was slowly starting to sink, and Daveth was running dangerously low on arrows. None of them wanted to spend the night in the Wilds, but conversely, none of them wanted to return to Ostagar without their second task either.

So it was with great relief that they saw the shape of the ruined marble tower through the woods. 

However that relief was short lived as they found very little remaining of the ruined tower, and a number of broken and shattered chests lay in the doorway of an exposed understory room.

Silently they explored and found no trace of the documents they’d been sent to find.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Carver’s head snapped up and he straightened into standing as he took in the sight of a black haired woman strolling down the ramp of the ruin.

She wore clothes similar to the Chasind, adorned with feathers and leathers, unperturbed by modesty. Her skin was pale, hair dark and her eyes were a striking pale golden colour.

Beautiful, by anyone’s standards, Carver thought, feeling flustered for a moment, before he saw the hint of a smirk around her mouth.

“Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger? Poking amidst a corpse, whose bones were long since cleaned?” there was a playful note to her voice, a wryness that felt familiar. Slowly Carver moved to face her head on, “Or merely an intruder...come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” she prowled forward, suspicion in her gaze and Carver felt, more than saw Daveth and Alistair shift, uneasily behind him, “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

Carver met her gaze firmly. He knew of the Chasind, every child who lived in the Hinterlands knew of them. They were wildfolk with their own code and ways. Some spoke of them as a warning to naughty boys and girls, but Carver had always been curious.

Something about their wildness and freedom appealed.

But he knew better than to show weakness to one. Such a proud people and strong culture would see such obiesence as weakness. And that could definitely prove fatal.

“We are here to reclaim that which was once ours.” he informed the woman, folding his arms, echoing her pose, “And what of you? Are you a scavenger? Guard? Or simply a curious woman out on a sunset stroll.”

Her lips curved up in a wicked smirk, “I have been watching your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go?’ I wondered ‘Why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes that have been untouched in so long…” she dragged out the word so, her voice taking on an almost sing-song lilt, “Why is that?”

“Don’t answer,” Alistair murmured, and Carver glanced over at the other man, seeing him stepping close to his shoulder, “She looks Chasind, there may be others nearby.”

The woman laughed, “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!” and she raised her arms like swooping birds, the gesture still mocking.

“Yes…” Carver looked at his companion again, seeing his eyes narrowed, “Swooping is bad.”

“She’s a witch of the wilds, she is.” Daveth added from the other side and Carver turned to frown at him, when he saw the man’s obvious anxiety, “She’ll turn us into toads.”

Carver snorted and the woman rolled her eyes, resting her hand on her cocked hip, 

“A Witch of the Wilds…” she sighed, “What idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?”

Her gaze roamed over Daveth, Ser Jory, Alistair...and then settled firmly, once again, on Carver. 

“You there, handsome lad. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be…civilised.” 

There was a purr to her voice, a sort of charm to it, but Carver was realising more and more how much this woman reminded him uncomfortably of Garrett. She wielded words like a weapon, sharpened with her charm and smoothness of tone. Even the sarcasm was familiar, and it was enough to keep him firm and unmoved by both her obvious beauty and her charm.

“I’m Carver...Carver Hawke.” he informed her and felt Alistair jolt beside him, “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he added, because Leandra had insisted they all learn their manners. And it was good to show some manners...even to a Chasind wildwoman.

“Well now that is a proper, civil greeting, even here in the Wilds.” She smirked at him, golden eyes curious but calculating, “You may call me Morrigan, Carver Hawke. Shall I guess your purpose?” She tilted her head challengingly and Carver sent up a silent prayer that this woman and Garrett would never meet.

Surely the world would simply explode rather than handle them together.

He inclined his head and her grin sharpened, “You sought something in that chest? Something that is...here no longer?”

“‘Here no longer’?” Alistair repeated sarcastically, stepping forward once more, “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some kind of...sneaky….witch-thief!”

Carver restrained the urge to slap his hand to his forehead, or pinch the bridge of his nose, but it was a close call.

Morrigan grinned, “How very eloquent.” she mocked cheerfully, completely unruffled by the Grey Warden’s accusation, “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily it seems,” Alistair met Carver’s gaze and suddenly his back straightened, and authority suffused his voice, “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them.” Morrigan frowned at him, shaking her head as though at a disappointing child, “Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer, if you wish. I am not threatened.”

And she smirked at Alistair, who made a faint whistling sound like an irate kettle.

“If it was not you, who removed them,” Carver folded his arms again, “Then do you know who did?”

Morrigan smirked down at him, and inclined her head, “‘Twas my mother...in fact.”

Carver arched his eyebrow at her in return, surprisingly not as irritated with her as he would have been with Garrett pulling the same stunt, “And can you take us to her?”

“Now there is a sensible request,” Morrigan laughed softly, “I like you.”

“I’d be careful…” Alistair muttered, “First it’s ‘I like you.” and his voice took on a breathy sort of falsetto that made Carver cough to hide a chuckle, “But then zap...frog time.”

Carver rolled his eyes, once again manfully resisting the urge to pinch his nose.

“She’ll put us all in the pot she will, just you watch,” Daveth added, wringing his fingers in their leather gloves.

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest it’d be a nice change.” Jory added.

Carver gave in, pinching his nose.

“Mages don’t turn people into toads, and witches don’t boil people in the pot.” he informed them, exasperatedly. Morrigan smirked at him, amused.

“Follow me then...if it pleases you.” she crooked a finger and headed off into the woodlands. 

Carver followed, not looking back at his companions, but knowing that, at least for now...they were following.

Maker preserve him.

* * *

They followed Morrigan into the depths of the uncharted wilderness, and Carver ignored Daveth’s superstitious mutterings, Jory’s increasing jumpiness and Alistair’s silent disapproval. They needed those treaties and here was where they were located. No matter which way they sliced the bread, these facts would remain the same. 

Eventually they came across a thin ribbon of path and at the end of it they found a large clearing and house. Out the front of which was an older woman with Morrigan’s pale gold eyes and a feeling of subtle power in the air around her.

“Greetings, mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who…” Morrigan strolled up to her mother, but was swiftly interrupted.

“I see them, girl. Hmm….much as I expected.” 

Morrigan’s mother had a low smoke filled voice, crackling with age, and wisdom and he was certain, power. Behind Carver Alistair scoffed openly.

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” he drawled, folding his arms and cocking an eyebrow with faux amusement. Morrigan’s mother simply shot him an unimpressed look in return.

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight, or open one’s arms wide. Either way, one’s a fool.” she ran her eyes critically over Alistair and Carver saw his companion flush, as though her words were an insult.

“She’s a Witch I tell you. We shouldn’t be talking to her…” Daveth muttered, fidgeting anxiously, before Ser Jorry hissed back.

“Quiet Daveth. If she’s really a Witch, do you want to make her mad?”

Morrigan’s mother laughed softly as Morrigan herself leaned against a tree, smirking faintly with amusement.

“There’s a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides.” Jory spluttered, insulted, but Morrigan’s mother had already moved on, “Believe what you will.” she informed the group, before her pale gold eyes locked onto Carver’s once more.

“And what of you? Do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?”

“Who you are, what you are and what you believe is no matter to me.” Carver informed her firmly, “You have something we need, that is all.”

“They did not come here to listen to your wild stories, mother.” Morrigan drawled from the background, arms folded.

“True,” the woman nodded, “They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking,” she added with an acidic glance towards Alistair, “Your seal wore off long ago, I have protected these.”

“You…! Oh…” Alistair floundered, “You protected them.”

“And why not. Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blights threat is greater than they realise.”

She held out a sheaf of parchment to Carver, wrapped in a solid oilskin tube to protect them from the wet. Slowly he reached out to take them, tucking them into his belt, considering the older woman before him.

Looking at her, Carver knew there would be no details as to what she meant forthcoming, and that subtle feeling of power tingled in the air again. He knew what magic felt like, knew it intimately. She was benign now, but he had no doubt that this woman, and her daughter, were powerful mages. And ones the Chantry would hunt remorselessly if discovered.

Better to be on their way.

“Thank you, milady. Morrigan.” he nodded to both of them and saw their lips curve up in the same sardonic smirk.

“Time for you to go then.” Morrigan informed them bluntly, only to be interrupted by her mother’s chuckle.

“Do not be ridiculous, girl, these are your guests.”

Mother and daughter shared a look, Mother’s warning, Morrigan’s long suffering, before she huffed and shrugged.

“Oh...very well.” Morrigan sighed, “I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

And she strolled off down the path. The other three were quick to follow but Carver turned to look at Morrigan’s mother once more. 

She considered him in return, head cocked to the side, mouth slightly curved upwards.

“Thank you.” he murmured, and she chuckled, a fearless and fearsome sound within it.

“We will meet again, Grey Warden. Of that I am certain.”

And Carver hastened away, the hair on the back of his neck standing up on end.

Spooky.

* * *

As they headed up the path to Ostagar, Daveth and Jory bickering again as they hastened towards the firelight and safety, Alistair grabbed Carver’s arm and brought them both to a halt.

He arched a questioning eyebrow at the other man, and saw an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his half shadowed face.

“You only told me your name was Carver.”

“Yes?” Carver cocked his head, arching an eyebrow, “What of it?”

“Your name is Carver  _ Hawke _ .” he emphasised the surname sharply and Carver frowned at him, shrugging, “You’re the one who slaughtered all those Templars in Lothering, aren’t you.”

Ice shivered down Carver’s spine again, and he turned to face Alistair properly, seeing hurt in the green gold eyes, as well as wariness.

“Yes I did,” he sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck self consciously, “Because they were coming to take my brother and sister away.”

“Your...why?” Alistair frowned, before suddenly the clouds vanished, “They’re mages.”

Carver nodded, “Bethany saved someone with magic...and when they tried to arrest her, my brother defended her...again with magic. They got home and...I held off the Templars as they escaped.”

“You-...” Alistair floundered, and bit his lip, “You didn’t kill them because you hated them?”

“No! I don’t just go around killing people I don’t like! Though I’m no fan of them right now, after they and the Chantry tried to have me executed as a warning to others.” Carver snapped back, and sighed as he saw Alistair frown again. 

He didn’t want to hurt Alistair...or get him off side. He actually liked the other man, had enjoyed their time together so far. He was cheerful and easy going and he didn’t make Carver feel like an idiot, or less than…

He’d hoped that he’d made his first friend in this new life. But he knew this conversation could go badly…

Especially if he soured it with being defensive.

So he gentled his tone, deliberately and carefully, “I was buying time...but they were determined to get in...over my corpse if necessary.”

Alistair nodded, “That’s why you asked me about my Templar training isn’t it?”

“A little.” Carver shrugged slightly, deciding to be honest, “I wanted to know if you were already likely to hate me.”

“And…?” Alistair asked quietly, “What did you decide?”

“I don’t hate you.” Carver sighed softly, “And you? Is this going to be a problem?” he knew his voice had taken on that harder, more belligerent note, that it got when he was defensive and winced.

Alistair shook his head, “You’re a Grey Warden now...or you will be very soon, once the Joining is complete. I’ve never...I don’t have any family. But I would like to think...that if I did...I’d be able to protect them like you did yours.”

Carver felt his shoulders slump with relief and he shot the man a small smile, which was returned.

“Who you are before you become a Grey Warden...that doesn’t matter. It’s a fresh start, a new beginning, the chance to be more than you were…” Alistair nodded, and grinned, “I hated being a Templar. And you...I can see why Duncan recruited you. You were never going to be no-one.”

Warmth flooded Carver and he clasped Alistair’s arm firmly, seeing the same reflected back at him from the other man.

They’d both been lonely boys.

Now, they were Grey Wardens.


	4. Most Sacrifice Is Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now they have come to the Joining...

_ Most sacrifice is silent _

_ And sometimes goes unknown _

_ It sometimes takes reflection _

_ To see the love that's shown _

**\- Unknown**

* * *

“I can’t believe you went out of your way to get a flower for a sick Mabari, while fighting Darkspawn in a swamp. It’s possibly the most Fereldan thing I’ve ever seen someone do..” Alistair teased as they strolled across the camp, heading towards the kennels.

Carver shot his new friend a glare, but there was no real heat in it at all. 

“Sod off. Didn’t Duncan say we needed everyone to stop the Blight?”

“So you found the flower because even a single Mabari might tip the scales in our favour?” Alistair snorted, “You’re full of it Hawke. You’re just a big soft pillow under all those prickles aren’t you?”

The only appropriate answer to that was to shove Alistair.

Hard.

And ignore his cackling as they walked over to the kennel master, gave him the flower, and helped spoon the broth to all the Mabari he’d seen earlier.

The beast looked up at him with those big brown, intelligent eyes, and whined happily, rump wiggling slightly.

As they walked away Carver could feel Alistair’s eyes on him.

“Shut your face.” he growled at him, and couldn’t help but smile when the other Warden burst out laughing once more.

* * *

An hour later and all three of the recruits gathered in the old temple of the ruins, waiting for Duncan as Alistair eyed them all, a faint frown on his face.

“The more I hear about this Joining ritual the more I don’t like it.” Ser Jory insisted, sounding anxious as he fidgeted, “If I’d known…”

“Are you blubbering again?” Daveth sneered, turning his nose up at the other man, “You might’ve won that melee thing and all, but you’re a dreadful whiner. Even the whelp is steadier than you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Carver snarked back, and Daveth flashed him a smirk, “He’s got a point though Jory...you knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

“I know...and it’s an honour. But I have a wife, Helena. She’s pregnant and waiting for me in Highever…”

“The Wardens are not a temporary thing Ser Jory,” Alistair informed him, looking concerned, “It’s a lifelong commitment, a single-minded purpose.”

Jory looked even more anxious now, “If I’d known…”

Carver snorted, “Did you think this was the army? Discharge your duty and then be released back to your family? Everything they’ve said to us today has warned all of us that this is it. Whatever we were before this, doesn’t matter.”

For a moment he thought of his family, far away. He might never see them again…could he live with never seeking them out?

He’d be dead now if it wasn’t for Duncan, if the man hadn’t seen potential in a boy who took down 20 templars. He was a bit proud of those numbers really, considering his lack of training, and the fact he’d won. They’d brought him down in the end but his family had escaped.

It wasn’t in his nature to run away from a challenge and the Grey Wardens were the greatest challenge and opportunity he’d ever been given.

But Jory was different.

He could see the man’s stricken face, and he found himself asking, “Were you conscripted?”

“No...no I won the melee competition. The winner would become a Grey Warden.” the man shook himself, but still sounded off kilter. “Why do we have to go through all these tests? Maybe I should have left before I reached Ostagar…”

The knight seemed like a good enough sort, but Carver was getting the distinct impression that Jory was someone who followed orders, and liked things to be simple and understood.

“Would that be better?” Daveth sneered a little, “Scurrying back to Highever and your pretty wife, knowing that you chickened out of doing something really meaningful? I’d do a lot more than a secret ritual if it meant protecting everyone from the Blight.”

Jory looked torn, and that was when Duncan strode up the ramp, taking in the scene before him with those solemn dark eyes.

“We have come to the Joining.” he murmured, and ran his eyes over each of them, lingering on Jory for a long moment. The man hesitated, before holding his ground, chin jutting stubbornly. Duncan nodded and slowly walked to the huge stone table that dominated the space.

“The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

Shock hit Carver in the breastbone like a warhammer and as he glanced around, he saw Jory’s face lose all colour, while Daveth’s eyes grew huge in his face.

Alistair was unsurprised of course, he’d undergone this ritual, but his face was unusually serious.

This was the secret of the Grey Wardens, men and women who had voluntarily tainted themselves to give them an advantage over the beasts that threatened to ravage the world. 

“We’re going to...to drink the blood of those...of those creatures.” Jory sounded shocked to his very bones, and Carver felt a surge of rejection of the idea. It was instinctive, visceral, the memory of the terrible black blood and the stink of the beasts made his stomach seethe with unhappiness.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you.” he nodded to Alistair who inclined his head solemnly, “This is the source of our power, and our victory.”

“Those who survive the Joining, become immune to the Taint.” Alistair spoke up, looking around at them all and deliberately avoided meeting Carver’s eyes, “We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

“That’s how you knew where the Darkspawn were in the Wilds,” Carver said quietly, and Alistair nodded, “That’s why they sent a Warden with us…”

There was silence for a long moment as Carver wrestled internally with the revelation. Of course the Wardens were a life-long commitment if you were tainted in such a way. Duncan’s words about the sacrifices of the Wardens now also made sense as well…

And yet despite the surprise of it, it didn’t shake his belief that this was the right thing to do.

He’d made a commitment. He was only alive because the Wardens wanted, needed him. He owed them. And his life had already been forfeit anyway...right?

“Well then,” he folded his arms, “Let’s get on with it then.”

Duncan shot him a wry smile.

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first.” his smokey voice curled around the solemn words, “Alistair...if you would?”

Alistair nodded, and his head lowered, almost like he was saying a prayer in the Chantry. His voice took on that hushed quality too, one of reverence.

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we...shall join you.” 

The words burned in Carver’s mind, and his heart raced a little with...was it excitement? Eagerness? Determination? He wasn’t sure. But this was a vow, a promise, a binding covenant, a life-long commitment.

In that moment he truly understood what Duncan had meant, that his old life was over. The Grey Wardens would be his family now too. He would always be a Hawke, Garrett and Bethany would always be his brother and sister, and his mother would always be his mother. But the Grey Wardens would also call him brother. He could be a part of something more than himself, excel as he’d always wanted to excel, push himself as he’d always longed to push.

Shove the Taint, he would master it.

“Step forward Daveth.” Duncan murmured, and lifted the huge goblet from the stone table, “From this moment, you are a Grey Warden.” 

The thief stepped forward without hesitation, determined despite the white ashen colour of his skin.

He lifted the goblet and swallowed, before carefully passing the goblet back into Duncan’s hands.

For a moment nothing happened, and then Daveth’s face crumpled in agony, hands lifting to his head as he bent over. A strangled cry left his throat, and Carver took a half step forward, unsure how to help but wanting to nonetheless.

He froze as Daveth looked up, unseeing, eyes completely white, sightless and eerie.

“Maker’s Breath!” Jory swore, stumbling back in horror.

Daveth swayed for a moment, before his face twisted again, and he began to cough, terrible, wracking coughs that sent him tumbling to his knees. His veins slowly turned black, standing out like gnarled tree branches as he began to splatter dark blood and bile up with his coughs. More leaked from his eyes and his ears and his breeches turned dark too.

Then he collapsed.

“I am sorry Daveth,” Duncan murmured, sadly as the thief slumped unmoving to the ground in the puddle of tainted blood.

Dead.

Carver stayed where he was, frozen, horrified but unable to make himself move.

“Step forward Jory,” Duncan’s voice was as calm and unruffled as it had been moments ago, and Carver looked up in time to see Ser Jory back away, hand reaching for his greatsword.

“But...I have a wife…” Jory’s voice trembled with fear, panic making the whites of his eyes stand out, “A child. Had I known…”

Duncan slowly advanced, voice calm, but utterly implacable, “There is no turning back.”

“No! You ask too much,” Jory backed up even more, lifting his blade between them, “There is no glory in this!”

Slowly, Duncan drew one of his blades and Carver started forward, “Jory-”

Alistair grabbed his arm, and held him in place, “No. Do not interfere,” he hissed, but Carver could see the distress on his face, “He has to make this choice himself.”

Jory’s eyes were locked on Duncan, and the chalice clutched in his other hand. A moment later he’d lunged and been parried away, before the faster and nimbler man, swiftly stabbed his blade through a gap in the warriors armour.

Blood sprayed, and a rancid smell added to the already terrible smells of Daveth’s grisly demise.

It was a belly cut, none could survive from those, unless they had a mage healer on hand, and a powerful one at that.

Duncan stepped back and Jory crumpled to the floor, his guts and blood spilling onto the stones to mix with Daveth’s terrible black blood.

“I am sorry Jory.” Duncan sighed sadly, before he turned, and those dark, implacable eyes, fell on him. “Step forward Carver.”

Alistair let go of his arm, and slowly he walked forward, stepping around the bodies to an open space.

Duncan offered him the chalice.

There was no choice really.

‘In war, victory’. He repeated softly in his mind, ‘In peace...vigilance. In death…’ he glanced over at the twin corpses of his fellow recruits, ‘sacrifice.’

Slowly he took a sip of the mixture and swallowed, feeling something like a chill trickle down his throat. The flavour was surprisingly herbaceous, but underneath it was a bitterness that burned.

And then that bitterness shifted into an actual fire.

Pain shattered through his skull, a howling, swirling, terrible vortex, that suddenly sounded like a terrible voice. It was like thousands of swords ringing on armour, like the screaming of hounds, like someone was thundering a bell inside his head. He couldn’t understand it...but he knew it was speaking.

Fire burned through him like an unstoppable forest blaze, searing every nerve alight. It was like he was being devoured by a dragon, incinerated by its breath as it tore him apart.

He was going to die, he realised, and in that moment his stubborn pride rebelled.

‘No!’ he heard himself say, deep inside his soul, and the word hung there like ice, cooling the flames around it, ‘Sod you! No I will not die like this.’

He fought back, using every inch of Hawke stubbornness, Amell determination and Carver bull-headedness. Slowly the fire faded.

The pain remained but it wasn’t consuming him now. He was the master of his own body. 

He controlled the dragon.

And suddenly there, as if summoned, there in his mind, he saw a twisted abomination of a dragon, crouched high above like a vulture. It’s head swivelled around to look at him, eyes as white and terrible and searing as Daveth’s had been, and it roared, spewing black blood.

It was like it had seen him...and hadn’t liked what it saw.

And then everything went black.

* * *

The first thing Carver felt on returning to consciousness was soreness, a dull ache throughout his entire body. The second thing was a faint...sound in the back of his head, like someone was whispering just out of earshot.

And the third was that he could eat a fucking army of cows.

“It is finished,” he heard Duncan’s voice above him and cracked open his eyes, to see both him and Alistair peering down at him. The older man gave him a small, rare smile, “Welcome.”

“Two more deaths,” Alistair sighed softly, giving Carver a hand and helping him to sit up, “Only one person died during my Joining, but that was horrific enough…I’m glad at least one of you made it through.”

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked, as the pair of them levered Carver to his feet with a deep grunt.

“Like I could eat anything that moved,” Carver groaned, and then shot Alistair a look, “You’re looking like a really nice roast chicken right now…”

“Hey now!” Alistair barked a laugh, “No eating of your fellow Grey Wardens. Cannibalism is not permitted! We’ll get you some supper after this though...everyone’s hungry after the Joining...and every meal afterward.”

Carver chuckled weakly, before his eyes fell on the bodies lying nearby, and his humour slipped away, “I can’t believe you killed Jory…”

“There was no going back,” Duncan murmured sadly, “It gave me no pleasure taking his life, but the secrets of the order are my primary concern. When he drew his blade...he forced my hand. The Blight demands sacrifices form us all, but thankfully you stand before me as a reminder that they need not all be in vain.” His lips curved up slightly.

“Did you dream?” Alistair asked, and both of them looked over at him, “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

“That is common, as you begin to sense the Darkspawn.” Duncan assured them both firmly, “But it, and many other gifts and struggles you will encounter, can be explained in the coming months. For now however, Alistair, you should take our new recruit to the Warden tents, the others are waiting to greet our new brother into the order. And I have a meeting with Teyrn Loghain to attend. I will see you both there shortly.”

“Yes Duncan,” Alistair bowed his head, and Carver did too, wincing a little, “Come on Carver, let’s get you some food.”

“Now you’re talking,” Carver groaned as he walked beside Alistair, away from the temple and Duncan, away from the Blighted corpse of Daveth and the slaughtered one of Jory. He glanced back once, and Alistair caught his gaze, holding out an amulet.

“Here.” Carver took it and was surprised to find it made of delicate silver, with a orb of something like glass contained within it. Within the glass orb, black fluid, tinged with a dark red swirled hypnotically. “Warden’s Oath. We all have one.” he showed Carver’s his own Amulet, tucked in his armor, “It’s magically strengthened and charmed. It holds some of the blood from your ritual, to remember those that didn’t make it this far. A promise.”

Carver examined the talisman curiously as they walked, before finally he settled it around his neck and caught sight of Alistair’s grin beside him.

Soon enough they were in the Warden encampment and a chorus of raucous voices filled the air. There were about ten of them, arrayed around the campfire, and all of them were grinning as they took him in.

“Welcome!” a dark haired man with dancing black eyes raised a tankard and the rest of them chorused a hello, “Always good to have a new recruit!”

“Alistair, stop being such a clodhopper and introduce the poor boy.” another chuckled from nearby, his tone affectionate as he smiled at Alistair.

“Oh! Right! Yes…” Alistair turned to look at Carver before gesturing to the whole assembly, “This is Carver! Carver Hawke!”

“That’s a good name! Haha!” A huge man built like a forge boomed, gulping down his drink before wiping his mouth. His massive beard was bigger than some people’s heads, and his hands were huge too as he gestured, “To your health! And the carving of your enemies!”

“Here here!” a red haired elf cheered, leaning back against a crate of supplies.

“Oof another tall one,” a blond haired man observed, but his smile was kind rather than mocking, “He’ll be a big boy when he grows up.”

“That’s Dandin,” Alistair introduced, pointing to the dark eyed man, who gave him an insouciant salute, “And that’s Bryndon, and that’s Gregor, he’s from the Anderfels.” 

The huge man laughed once more, “In war victory!”

“Sylasin,” Alistair continued, gesturing to the red haired elf, “And Toran, Vilden, Kylaw, Frey, Erikar and that’s Palathir.” the last one he indicated was a haughty blond elf who bore the distinctive markings of the Dalish.

Unsure of what to do, Carver raised his hand and twiddled his fingers awkwardly.

Makers sweaty ballsack, it was times like this he envied Garrett’s easy charm and instant comfort with people.

“Someone get the boy a drink!” Gregor boomed, and Dandin shoved at the larger man, not making him budge even an inch.

“Gregor you drunk, the lad just underwent the Joining! He must be starving.”

They all turned their attentive eyes to Carver who blinked at them in shock.

And in the silence his stomach decided to let out an ear shatteringly loud gurgle.

The Wardens fell about laughing, but drew him into the circle, passing him a full plate of stews and bread and the instant he finished his bowl, they shoved a new one into his hands.

He demolished four full bowls and a full loaf of bread, and the Wardens chatted to him happily, telling him stories and making him feel right at home.

Once he was done with his meal, they coaxed the story of his recruitment out of him, and the red haired human Frey, revealed to him that he was a mage, as was the haughty elf Palanthir. 

“Good to have a Warrior to watch our backs.” Frey ruffled his hair as he gave him another full tankard.

“I think you’re going to fit in just fine, Hawke.” Dandin informed him, slinging an easy arm around his shoulders and grinning broadly as he finished off his drink.

The words hit him like a blow. Hawke was his father, strong and unassailable, wise and steadfast, playful and stern by turns. Hawke was Garrett, brash and cocky and stupidly charming. He’d always been Carver...almost like people forgot he was a Hawke too.

But to Alistair...and the other Grey Wardens, he was Hawke. There was no other to compare him to, no other to find him wanting against.

He could be the one, the only, Hawke.

The thought filled him with a fierce excitement….but it was tempered with a surprising wave of sadness at the realisation that his old life truly was over. He was a Grey Warden now, and he knew that was something he could never run from, even if he wished it. One day he might find his family once more...but he would not be the same Carver they left behind in Lothering.

And they were unlikely to be the same either.

So. 

Hawke then. Grey Warden Carver Hawke.

He liked that.

He liked that a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people on the Carver Hawke Appreciation discord for their support and <3


	5. To Strive, To Seek and Not To Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all prepare for the Battle of Ostagar...and Carver meets his hero.

_ We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. _

**Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

* * *

Carver was awoken in the morning by the sound of a sharp whistle. 

He sat up sharply, groaning slightly as he took in the strange shift in his body he’d been feeling since the Joining the previous evening. Brushing his hair out of his eyes he looked up and scowled at the dark haired, dark eyed, Dandin, who was grinning at him unashamedly.

“Come on little eyas, time to rise and shine.”

And his head disappeared back outside. 

Now he was awake, Carver could hear the soft noises of people going about their days. The clainking of cookpots, water sloshing, wooden clacking, and more distantly, shouts and orders.

Sighing, he slid out of his tent and looked around him, taking in the sight of the Wardens armouring up and moving around the campsite. Tugging his tunic over his head he made his way to the campfire where Alistair and Dandin waited, offering him a plate heaping with various offerings.

“How can I be this hungry  _ again _ ?” Carver groaned, flopping down onto the log and tucking into his meal as Alistair chuckled beside him, “Seriously, do you all eat like this?”

“As far as I know, all Wardens eat more than usual.” Alistair looked towards Dandin who nodded, lounging with seeming effortless grace.

“We do, but that first year, you’ll eat about triple. It eases to about double after that.”

“Oh joy,” Carver grumbled but scarfed down the food with relish.

Dandin laughed at him, but without any unkindness to it, “Little eyas you will find many joyful things about being a Warden. Sacrifice and suffering sure...but it’s important not to get too bogged down in the struggles and strifes of life. Savour the joys.”

“Eyas,” Carver frowned, “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

“Indeed.” Dandin chuckled, “Surely you know...an eyas is a baby hawk.”

Alistair sniggered as Carver spluttered, “Baby-what?”

Dandin lifted a foot and shoved Alistair off his log with a yelp, “Don’t laugh at him. Better than being a clodhopper, Alistair.”

The blond squawked with outrage and Dandin shot Carver a wink, “You’ll find that when we mock, it’s only with love. You’re one of us.”

Alistair groaned as he levered himself up onto the log once more, “Ugh, tell that to my back.”

“If your back is hurting from that Alistair.” Boomed Gregor from behind Carver, making him choke on his sausage, “You need to strengthen it.”

“Maker’s breath…” Carver coughed and twisted to look up at the huge man, “Where the seven demons did you come from!?”

Gregor slapped his back with a chuckle and headed off, without answering.

Carver shot an incredulous look at Dandin who cackled, “He’s big and looks lumbering, but the man can move as silently as any in the order. Kind of terrifying really.” Carver’s stomach gurgled again and Dandin gestured at him, “Keep eating eyas.”

“Yes mother Dandin,” Frey crooned, swooping past and ruffling Alistair’s hair before darting out of range, and grinning at Carver, “Sooner you eat that, sooner you get to come and train with the big boys.”

“Can you qualify as a big boy if you’re a mage?” Dandin teased back, swinging himself onto his feet with that uncanny grace of his.

“Unlike you rogues, tiptoeing your way through a battle.” Frey laughed, spinning his staff effortlessly, blue eyes fixed on Dandin.

“Tiptoeing!” Dandin scoffed as Carver gulped down his last bite, “Cheeky bugger.”

“Come on Hawke!” Frey grinned, and Carver couldn’t help but smile back as several other Wardens drifted back over, “We hear you wiped the floor with a Chantry’s worth of Templars.”

Carver got to his feet, “Not quite that many.”

“Sounds better that way.” Dandin spun a dagger between his fingers, “Get your armour on, let’s see what you can do.”

* * *

Excitement and nerves thrummed through him as he walked over to the flat, dusty training area that the Wardens had claimed as their own. He’d longed to be able to test himself against trained soldiers...but Grey Wardens?

Grey Wardens were supposed to be some of the best. 

And sure...technically he was a Warden now, but this still felt like a test.

Alistair grinned at him as he joined the group, and slung an easy arm over his shoulder, “Ready?”

“Uh…” Carver swallowed, “Sure….ready. Ready.”

“Hawke!” Dandin called, spinning his knives again, “Come on, you’re with me. You too Palanthir.”

The haughty elf rolled his eyes but strolled elegantly over to the rogue, and Carver followed, as Frey beckoned over Alistair and the other red head, an elf, who grinned as he copied Dandin’s showing off.

The two teams set themselves and Carver could hear the quiet betting from the sidelines.

“Go!” Gregor boomed.

Instantly Carver’s focus shifted to Alistair, the opposing person in heavy armour. The teams were evenly matched, one heavy, one light armoured, one mage. The contest would come down to the skill and talent of the individuals, and Carver’s heart beat faster at the thought.

He and Alistair circled each other warily, changing directions periodically, unwilling to let the other get past and towards the more vulnerable members of the team.

Suddenly the air shifted and Carver instantly knew a spell had been cast. Fire blossomed between him and Alistair, making the other man leap back, and again as a second followed the first. It gave Carver a chance to glance around and catch sight of the sneaky red haired elf aiming down his bow at his mage.

Instantly Carver shifted and the arrow bounced harmlessly off his plate.

This is familiar. Most of the times he’d been brought in to train with Garrett, Bethany and his father, he’d been tasked with protecting them. He was their shield. 

He felt more than saw Alistair pressing him from the right, and that’s when the fight began in earnest. 

It was completely different to running drills on his own, or training with his father with his limited swordcraft, and his mage siblings. But at the same time his body remembered the movements. His muscles followed patterns he’d etched into them for months, for years.

Still it didn’t really compensate for the sort of rigorous training Alistair had had.

He winced as Alistair smacked him with his shield and stumbled back a step, head ringing inside his helmet. He took a moment to shed the damn thing, and shook his head before re-engaging Alistair with a roar. 

The move took the former Templar in training by surprise and now it was his turn to leap back as Carver cut a huge swathe with his blade.

He heard the archer behind Alistair yelp, and heard Dandin’s laugh, and knew that he’d managed to get past Alistair to harass the red headed elf.

Alistair heard it too, and his jaw set in a harder line as he charged back in at Carver, forcing him to work twice as hard to block blows from both blade and shield.

He had the reach, but Alistair was better trained. He felt himself stagger back another step and then saw Alistair turn his gaze towards Palanthir, now left open. Carver lunged forward just as Alistair shot a wave of  _ something _ , at the Mage, forcing it to hit him instead.

“Dammit Carver!” Alistair shouted, but Carver just grinned, nerves fizzing interestingly, lunging forward, and used powerful sweeps of his blade to send Alistair back on defense again, “Aggravating...prick!”

Suddenly the blond man yelped and crashed down onto one knee as Dandin darted by, smacking his blunted training daggers against the back of his knees.

Carver took advantage of the situation, darting forward to smack Alistair with the flat of his pommel, grinning down at his friend as he huffed, before suddenly Dandin shouted.

“Eyas! The Mage!”

He looked up, and saw a bolt of purple light flying towards him.

There wasn’t time to move, wasn’t time to do anything other than brace himself. He knew that spell, knew it from the colour and the shape, as an Arcane lance, one that would likely bowl him over judging by the power in it.

He lifted his gauntlet and braced, and felt the magic slam into him.

It was like being hit by a mabari, and he gasped for air, even as he staggered back a pace, staying on his feet. 

The Mage across the field, Frey, lowered his hands, and the look on his face was comically startled.

So was Dandin’s, nearby as he held up his hand, “Hold up, hold up…”

“We were about to win,” Palanthir scoffed, sneering slightly as he strolled over. But the look he shot at Carver was moderately warmer than it had been, “You have a unique fighting style Hawke.”

“I’ll say.” Alistair grunted, sitting up in his armour and sighing as he clattered his way to his feet, “It’s like…”

“You’ve no technique,” Toran, the blond haired man from the sidelines pointed out dryly, “Or rather, you have technique but clearly no formal training. And your strategic style is...fascinating.”

“For now though, I want to concentrate on this…” Dandin beckoned Frey over, “He’s Circle trained, that was an Arcane Lance...it’s supposed to be powerful enough to punch through armour if required.”

“To punch a hole through someone, if required, “ Palanthir corrected, sounding bored.

Dandin waved a hand at the elf, “Whatever, point is...I’ve seen Frey level trees with that spell. I’ve seen him blow stone back…”

“So?” Alistiar looked between Carver and Dandin, and Frey, “Mustn’t have been as powerful a blast. Carver’s still standing.”

“I put enough power in that blast to knock a yak over.” Frey informed them, looking at Carver with interest, “And yet...you stood.”

“Almost like a dwarf.” Toran observed, looking interested, “Magical resistance?”

“Maybe…”Dandin mused, before nodding at Frey, “Hit him with something.”

“Wha?” Carver spluttered, before next second he felt himself shoved by nothing at all, “Hey!”

“Oh he’s resistant alright.” Frey’s eyes gleamed, “Interesting.”

Dandin slapped Carver’s back through his armour, “The gaps in your technique we’ll patch up. The magical resistance? Well that we’ve got to play with some more. Alistair’s resistant too.” he gestured at the other warrior who nodded back, “We thought it was his Templar training…”

“Are there natural Templars?” Frey mused, and Toran launched into a debate on the theology of it.

Gregor chuckled, and drew Carver away, “Come on lad. We’ll begin some drills. You’ve got a good natural style...don’t want to mess with that. Just...polish it up.” He looked up at the big man from the Anderfels and smiled weakly, wondering about his magical resistance.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about all that hocus-pocus back there,” The huge man slapped his back and made Carver wheeze as all the air was blasted from his lungs, “The Magical resistance is nice, but skill...skill is the most important thing. Now...follow my steps.”

* * *

It’s mid afternoon by the time Duncan returned to the Grey Warden camp, and the instant all of them saw his face, the joking and roughhousing fell to the side.

“The scouts have reported on the Darkspawn horde,” Duncan’s voice was quiet, but they all heard him, “They will reach us by nightfall. I need all of you down with the army, we will be on the front lines of this fight. Alistair,” he looked at the young man, who looked up at him, apprehension on his face, “You will wait here until I return from the final war council meeting.”

“But Duncan I-” 

“This is not a request Alistair. It is an order. At the very least...you will be needed to go with Carver here down to the army.”

Carver looked up, surprised, “What?”

“The King...has expressly requested you attend the war council meeting.”

For a moment Carver wondered if his ears had malfunctioned

Everyone gaped at him. He stared back and then looked up at their commander, “Me? The king….what?”

“I am not sure why, but it was a royal command.” Duncan’s face was solemn, “We must all do what must be done. I will see all of you soon. Gather your things, say your farewells. We will likely not get another chance before the battle.”

Everyone clustered together, and Carver felt his back get slapped gently by a number of different hands.

“Look after yourself, little eyas.” Dandin pulled him in for a hug, hand around the back of his neck as he embraced him, “I expect to see you at the victory drinks afterwards.”

“Good luck,” Frey shook his hand and winked, “Kill a ton of Darkspawn, Warden.”

Gregor dragged him into a bone breaking hug, “I am sure we will see you on the battlefield lad, but if not, remember, keep your blade up. Don’t get goaded into being overly aggressive.”

Palanthir nodded, the others patted his back, and then all of them were gone through the gate down to the army.

Leaving Alistair, Duncan and him, alone.

* * *

The war council was held in what must once have been the great hall of the fortress. The columns arced high above them, the white stone dulled in the years since they were built, making a cavernous, empty space, with only a single, large, white marble table set in the middle.

Clustered around it was the unmistakable form of the King, kitted out in his full suit of golden armour, pale hair gleaming in the torchlight. Nearby a woman in a full set of Chantry Mother’s robes stood, glaring at a bald man with sharp features, wearing long robes, obviously a Mage.

The man standing on the same side of the table with King Cailan was a tall man with thick black hair braided off his face, strong, heavy features and a dark frown on his face. Compared to Cailan’s shining, almost ornate plate, the other man’s was brutally practical. Silver and well made, with a hint of detailing around the neck and spurs on the knee plate.

“Loghain, I’ve made my decision, I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.” The King insisted, as Duncan and Carver joined the table, and Carver struggled not to choke on his own spit, or do anything else potentially embarrassing.

“You take too many risks Cailan!” The man, no, General, Teyrn Loghain, barked “The Darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be on the front lines playing  _ hero _ .”

He scoffed at the word and straightened up, hand resting firmly on the table of maps, all showing the layout of Ostagar and the surrounding woods. Carver couldn’t help but stare, shocked and awed at the sight of his childhood hero standing before him. 

The man had an air about him, one of someone used to giving orders and having them be obeyed. His serious face was stony, but there was something in his pale eyes as he looked at the King.

He wasn’t handsome, wasn’t charming and smooth like Garrett, his words were brusque, and the frown on his face was distinctly displeased.

Carver felt his chest constrict with excitement, and struggled not to show it on his face.

Duncan shot him an amused look and folded his arms with a sigh.

The King scowled at the General.

“If the situation is that dire then maybe we should wait for the  _ Orlesian  _ reinforcements after all.”

The Teyrn’s face hardened even more and his fingertips dug into the parchment of the maps

“I must, once again it seems, protest your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to protect ourselves at all!”

“It is not a fool notion!” the King snapped back, and Duncan glanced at Carver, who looked back, wide eyed, “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will remember who is king!”

The General glared at his sovereign and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose between his gauntleted fingers.

“How fortunate it is that Maric did not live long enough to see his son willing to hand us over to the armies of the nation who enslaved us all for a century.”

The King rolled his eyes, looking rather more like a petulant child than a monarch about to lead his armies to war. Carver shot Duncan another look, and received a warning one in return.

“Then our current armies will have to suffice won’t they. And a leader should be at the head, leading them.” the King looked smug, as he turned towards them and Carver quickly wiped any remaining incredulity away, “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

“They are, Your Majesty.” Duncan said smoothly, bowing his head slightly and determinedly not looking at Teyrn Loghain’s black scowl.

The King’s bright, pale blue eyes flicked to Carver and he smiled, that impossibly charming smile that suddenly, and unwelcomely, reminded him of Garrett’s.

“And this is the recruit I met yesterday, yes? Hawke, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Carver bowed his head, thanking his mother silently for all those manner lessons of hers. He saw the Revered Mother jerk with something...recognition perhaps, and Carver felt his stomach sink, “Carver Hawke.”

“Yes I thought your name sounded familiar,” the King sounded smug, “Reports had reached us that morning from Lothering, messengers from the chantry there to the Arl. He was rather incensed.”

“As he should have been!” the Chantry mother snapped, unable to contain herself any longer, “Your Majesty, this man is a dangerous criminal, and no friend to the Maker or his faithful. How the Grey Wardens could have taken him in is...”

“The Grey Wardens are needed now, more than ever,” the King overruled her smoothly, and she spluttered to a furious stop, “I have heard the Wardens’ recruitment test is not an easy one. He passed, clearly, as he now stands before us, a full Grey Warden. And he will fight the Blight.”

“Your fascination with legends and glory will be your undoing Cailan,” the Teyrn growled, and for a moment he looked over and met Carver’s eyes, running his pale blue eyes over the young man for a long moment, before looking away again, “We must attend, to reality.”

“Alright.” Cailan flashed Carver a cheeky wink, clearly meant to get Carver onside, but Carver frowned faintly. Cailan reminded him uncomfortably of Garrett...but there was something else familiar about him too. Something Carver just couldn’t put a finger on, “Let’s go over your plan again. The Grey Wardens, and I,” here he flashed his father in law a small smirk, “Will draw the Darkspawn into charging our line. And then?”

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling me to charge-”

“-and flank the Darkspawn, I remember.” King Cailan interrupted, eyes glued to the parchment before him. Carver glanced at Loghain and saw the man’s lip curl slightly, “This is the Tower of Ishal yes, here in the ruins. Who will be tasked with lighting the beacon?”

“I have a few men stationed at the tower,” the general nodded, tapping his finger against the Tower on the map, “It’s not a dangerous job, but it is vital.”

“Then we should send our best.” the King mused, leaning back for a moment, before his eyes locked onto Carver once more, “You.”

“Me?” Carver spluttered, before he was kicked by Duncan sharply under the table, “Your Majesty…”

“Cailan…” Loghain growled but the young man raised a hand.

“You will light the beacon. Duncan mentioned that the skills of a Grey Warden can take a while to learn.” Carver shot a look at Duncan, and took in his impassive face, “So you will light the beacon. You and Alistair.”

Carver jolted, surprised by the mention of his newest friend. 

‘Alistair’ the King said, Carver thought with surprise, Familiar address for a Grey Warden from his King.

Immediately he looked at Duncan, but saw no hint of surprise there.

“Cailan…” the General barked again but the King ignored him, locking his gaze onto Carver.

“That is my decision. We will send Alistair and Carver Hawke to see this task done.”

Carver dithered for a moment but another sharp kick from Duncan brought him back to himself, and he bowed.

“It will be done Your Majesty.”

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?” The Teyrn began but was interrupted by the Chantry mother.

“Your Majesty I must protest trusting this...criminal with such-”

“Your Majesty…” the Mage, who had been silent up until now, darted forward, “The Mages from the Circle could make the use of the tower unnecessary. Our magic…”

The Revered Mother spun on him, incensed.

“We won’t trust any lives to your spells Mage. Save them for the Darkspawn.”

“Good to know, I still rank above Mages in the Chantry’s eyes.” Carver muttered to himself, and heard Duncan cough, to hide a chuckle.

“Enough!” The Teyrn slammed his hands down on the table, “This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens….will light the beacon.”

“Thank you Loghain.” Cailan beamed and his grin held genuine enthusiasm and excitement, “I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil.”

“Yes Cailan.” Loghain walked off, his voice carrying back to the others, “A glorious moment for us all.”

“Come Carver.” Duncan murmured, bowing to the King as the pair of them withdrew, “You heard the plan, you and Alistair must light the beacon.”

“He’s going to hate this,” Carver sighed back, “He’s been itching to fight in this battle for days.”

“And you?” Duncan asked, shooting him a neutral look, “How do you feel?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to save Ferelden,” Carver growled back, “Even if it’s being an errand boy.”

Duncan looked at him thoughtfully, but stayed silent as they returned to the Grey Warden Camp.

* * *

Alistair didn’t take the news well, as Carver predicted.

After he’d begged, pleaded, cajoled and grumbled, he finally gave in and Duncan drew him off to the side, murmuring quietly to him.

It worked because when he returned, Alistair looked resigned, but no longer resentful and furious.

Then it was Carver’s turn to be drawn aside. 

“This task may not be the most glorious, but it is vital. If Teyrn Loghain doesn’t know when to join the battle, we will be lost. I will be fighting alongside the King with the other Grey Wardens.”

Carver nodded, feeling jittery, “Something feels off about this.”

“I know what you mean.” Duncan rested a hand on his shoulder, “It may simply be the approach of so many Darkspawn that makes us so on edge...but I also worry something may go wrong. I want no heroics out of either you or Alistair. If the Arch-demon shows up, and we need you, we will send word. But unless we do, you must remain at the tower with the Teyrn’s men.”

“Maker’s blessings Duncan.”

The man gave him a small smile, “In War, Victory, Hawke. We shall prevail.”


	6. The Most Loyal Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Ostagar Unfolds...

**_The most loyal hearts_ **

**_Are broken by betrayal_ **

**\- Imbalance**

* * *

There was an eerie calmness in the air.

Carver looked out over the wide expanse of the Korcari wilds from one of the grand balconies of Ostagar, and let out a slow breath. With the fall of night the army below was lit up with torches scattered among the men and huge braziers that flooded the areas around them with flickering golden light. 

No one wanted to stab an ally, or worse get ambushed by a rampaging darkspawn when the battle was in full flight.

Below there was little movement among the men, and the rumble of chatter that had been there only minutes ago was gone.

Silence.

And approaching through the thick trees…

Other lights.

Hundreds of them, thousands of them, moving, and faintly on the wind the sound of a gutteral marching chant.

Carver swallowed, sucking in a short breath as the lights strode out into the valley floor and revealed more Darkspawn than could be counted.

Beside them, the human army looked suddenly a lot more vulnerable.

“Maker’s breath,” Carver whispered, and Alistair, who had been marching up and down the courtyard for the last hour, hurried over to look as well. Both the young men stood transfixed as the two armies eyed each other, before suddenly everyone was moving and a great roar sprung up from human and inhuman throats.

Arrows sang through the air, flighted from both sides, and mighty trebuchets loosed their blazing cargo across the night’s sky.

Suddenly magic crackled below and Carver craned his neck to see Mages in brightly coloured robes lobbing their spells into the suddenly ravening horde. Elsewhere behind enemy lines red lightning crackled.

“What’s that?”

“Magic,” Alistair answered grimly, “Darkspawn mages are called Emissaries.”

“Darkspawn have magic?” Carver shook his head, “Maker.”

“Nasty to face in the field,” Alistair informed him as they watched the battle seethe below them, “Their magic is strange. Familiar, but not at the same time. Powerful too.”

Carver gazed out at the wide expanse and shook his head, “Come on, with battle joined, it’s important we get to the top of the tower. If the Wardens need us, that’s where they’ll find us.”

Alistair nodded, tearing his eyes from the war going on below, “You’re right. Lead on.”

* * *

Crossing the bridge had been interesting, as a few trebuchets hit their mark, and stone crumbled underneath their feet.

But overall everything was going well.

Until they reached the tower.

Suddenly men poured out of the gates, desperately trying to hold off a ravening surge of Darkspawn.

“Go right!” Carver yelled at his friend and charged, feeling Alistair running with him before peeling off to hit the monsters from the side with his shield. Between the two of them, Carver’s long broadsword and Alistair’s shield, they forced the creatures back until all of them were slain.

Behind them only two men lingered, a frightened looking bowman, and a hardened looking man wearing cloth armour bearing the crest of Gwaren, with a scar across one eye whose fingers sparkled with flames.

“What happened here?” Carver demanded, and the mage met his gaze.

“The Tower’s lost.”

“What do you mean lost?” Alistair barked, stepping up beside Carver. The bowman took in their Grey Warden armour and relief flickered over his face.

“They came from the lower levels...Darkspawn. They flooded the tower, everyone else is dead… or fled.”

“Shit,” Carver craned his neck up to the top of the tower, unlit, “We have to get up there or the Teyrn won’t know when to charge.”

“We have to light it ourselves,” Alistair nodded, and the pair of them shared a look before Carver locked his gaze on the two Teyrn’s men.

“You two, with us.”

“Oh no...I’m not going back in there…” the bowman whimpered, but the Mage unslung a serious looking staff from his back, “It’s suicide.”

“It’s your duty.” Alistair insisted but Carver shook his head at him.

The man was breaking, he was too frightened...and a bowman whose hands shook on the draw...well. Carver didn’t want that at his back. It was better this way.

“If you can’t fight...go, alert the Teyrn that the Tower of Ishal is under attack. We will light the beacon...but if he doesn’t see a light. He needs to know.”

The bowman nodded furiously before he turned on his tail and vanished.

“Come on,” Carver nodded and the others followed him through the carved stone arch.

* * *

The men hadn’t been lying, or exaggerating; the tower was flooded with Darkspawn, feeding on the bodies of the men killed.

Carver and the other two carved a swift swathe through the lower floor until they suddenly came to the room leading to the stairs going up. 

The floor was caved in, leading to a massive tunnel through which the sound of Darkspawn and fighting could be heard.

Carver stared at the pit, at the size of it, and the well packed earth that led out of it.

“Did the Teyrn know of this?” he asked the Mage in a hushed tone, frowning when the man nodded, “Why wouldn’t he tell us. He said he’d just leave a token force to light the beacon. He clearly wasn’t expecting this attack..”

“There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here.” Alistair hissed, and his face was pale in the glimmering magelight floating above their heads, “Why are they so ahead of the horde?”

“We’ve been fighting them for days,” the mage whispered, and Carver stared at him, “They’ve been coming out like sewer rats, but some got away. Then they stopped...and then…”

“The battle started and suddenly they hit you with everything.” Carver whispered, gazing at the hole.

The Teyrn had known. Known about the hole, known about the danger it posed for the army to be flanked. Had the lull in attacks tricked him too? Had his men reported the problem solved?

And the Darkspawn...they had planned this. Had deliberately stopped attacking for this reason...

That was a scary thought.

Just how intelligent were the beasts under the control of an Archdemon?

“We have to seal it, we can’t leave it open.”

“Carver we don’t have time,” Alistair hissed desperately, “The Teyrn awaits our signal, if we don’t light the beacon, everyone will die…”

“If the army pours through here and hits them from behind they’ll die too!” Carver growled back and turned to the Mage who was eyeing him thoughtfully, “Primal magic yes?” 

“Yes…” The mage looked even more thoughtful, “I cannot conjure enough rock to block it.”

“No, I know...but…” Carver considered the hole and then began to smile. “Here...Alistair, up the stairs.”

All of them hurried up the steps and then Carver gestured at them, “Use the stairs, block off the tunnel.”

“And stop them from following us...swiftly anyway.” The Mage nodded appreciatively, “You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Warden.”

Carver watched as the man plugged the tunnel with the heavy flagstones and smiled grimly, “That ought to waylay them, enough for help to come…”

They headed on, and Carver could feel the Mage considering him, and Alistair’s anxiety growing beside him.

* * *

They had to fight every step of the way.

Carver’s own anxiety was rising with every Darkspawn he killed, every arrow he blocked, every blade he dodged. The tower was riddled with Darkspawn and while, thankfully, no new enemies approached from the rear, they were constantly being waylaid.

All of them had nearly died several times over from the sheer number of foes against them, and Carver was getting desperate.

They must have missed the signal by now.

Every moment they wasted was another life lost, another step closer to defeat for Ferelden and he couldn’t let that happen.

So it was with relief that they burst through the door at the top and crashed through...only to be faced with a terrible beast, one larger than anything else they’d seen, with horns and plate and vile with corruption.

“Maker’s breath!” 

The monster roared and charged. Carver and Alistair dodged and, the dark haired Grey Warden gestured at the Mage, “Light the Beacon! Go!”

The Mage circled the room and Carver and Alistair attacked together, drawing the monster's gaze to them.

Suddenly above them, the tower blazed with light, and from far away Carver heard a giant cheer. The beacon was lit, even now, Teyrn Loghain’s forces would be charging in to rout the Darkspawn.

The monster screeched it’s rage, at the light or the sound, who could say, but it whirled, faster than any creature that size, should move, and its huge hand grabbed the Mage.

“No!”

The Mage’s scream was cut off as his body was dashed against the stones and Carver felt bile rise in his throat as his head split open, blood and brains splattering everywhere.

“Maker!” Alistair retched and Carver swallowed.

“Split up. When it turns to face one of us… Attack.”

Alistair nodded, still looking decidedly green and both of them circled, Carver careful to step over the half eaten remains of the guards the Teyrn had left. The monster’s head swivelled, left, to right, keeping both of them in its gaze.

Carver banged his sword against his plate, making a sharp metallic sound and the monster swivelled towards him, snarling, “Come on beastie,” he shouted, and the horrifying creature lunged.

He dived, grunting as his plate thunked against his organs, and came back onto his feet in time to watch Alistair leap into the air, plunging his blade into the back of the beast.

His weight dragged the sword down through its organs and it shrieked as it fell, twitching as it died.

Carver sat with a thunk, gasping for air as Alistair dragged himself over to join him.

“Maker…”

They grinned at each other weakly, “We did it,” Alistair breathed, giving a faint, incredulous laugh, “I can’t believe it! We did it…”

“We did.” Carver sighed and leaned into him, feeling the other man lean in on the other side so they propped each other up. “And you were worried you’d miss the battle,”

“I take it all back,” Alistair grinned over at him tiredly and looked up at the glowing ceiling, “Imagine if we hadn’t been sent here…”

“It would have been a massacre.” Carver winced, “The Teyrn wouldn’t have known when to charge. The Kings army would be slaughtered and then the Darkspawn army would flank and trap the Teyrn…”

“We saved Ferelden.” Alistair laughed weakly, “Maker…”

“Bit dramatic,” Carver smiled though, “We did our job...let’s hope the others are doing theirs.”

They sat there in silence for long moments more and then Carver groaned as he got to his feet, offering Alistair his hand, “Come on, the broken stairs won’t stop them forever...eventually they are going to come again, and we’re going to have to fight until the Teyrn or the Grey Wardens come for us.”

The blond slung his hand into Carver’s and got to his feet with a groan, both of them turning towards the doorway.

“Hopefully it-”

Suddenly arrows flew from the dark recess, and Carver shouted, lunging at Alistair.

“Get-!”

Pain blossomed across his body, and he yelled, feeling his legs crumpling under him as the world swirled.

Alistair’s body thudded to the ground beside him, and Carver felt the world slip away from his fingertips.

His last sight, was the glowing roof of the tower.

And his last thought was that they’d done their duty...and helped save Ferelden.

It made letting go, a lot easier.

* * *

The first feelings Carver had as he slowly returned to consciousness were confusion and deep discomfort.

He honestly had never expected to open his eyes again, and so the return of feeling, and pain, was both welcome and concerning.

Slowly he opened his eyes and blinked as he took in dark hair and bright golden eyes.

The girl from the Wilds. Morrigan.

Her lips curved up, and he realised he’d said it out loud.

“Indeed. How are you feeling? I have just bandaged your wounds.”

Slowly he sat up and groaned, rubbing his face with his hand, before looking around the simple, homely dwelling, “The last thing I remember...was the darkspawn. How did I get here?”

The faint sound of the Darkspawn at the back of his skull suggested there was some distance between him and them. So he was clearly not still in Ostagar.

Which begged the question, where the bloody hell was he? And what had happened in the battle?

Morrigan nodded, “The man who was to respond to your signal...quit the field. The Darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned...were massacred.”

Carver’s world lurched, spinning wildly as he tried to grasp what she was saying, “We lost…?”

“Your friend...is not taking it well.”

For a moment Carver just sat there, as his emotions battered against his ribs like birds trying to escape a cage.

The Darkspawn won.

What had  _ happened _ ?

“Teyrn Loghain quit the field...he abandoned the King?” Carver breathed, and his lips felt almost numb, voice sounding almost distant, like he was hearing it from a long way away, “Did he see the signal?”

Morrigan nodded again, and Carver’s chest clutched tightly.

“What happened to the King? To the other Grey Wardens?”

Gold eyes watched him carefully, as though the young woman was unsure as to how he would react to her words.

“They were killed. Without the aid of the one you signalled they could not face the might of the Darkspawn horde.”

Carver’s throat closed up and he ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep shuddering breath as he tried to process her words.

“All of them?”

“Yes. You would not like to see what is happening in that valley now...” 

It was a definitive answer, and her tone was heavy, leading Carver to close his eyes for a moment, accepting her words as fact.

Thoughts flashed to the Warden’s he’d met, at the smiles that had been on their faces as they headed to a battle. And a battle plan that had been devised by the very man that had left them to their grisly fate.

His chest clutched, thinking of them fighting a desperate war and looking up to see the Tower aflame...but the promised help nowhere to be seen.

Had they known? In that moment? Had they known they were doomed, that this was it? That it was over?

Except it wasn’t over...Carver realised with a dull sort of horror, the Darkspawn had won, and now there were no more Grey Wardens to defeat them.

None but him...and Alistair.

They were the only ones left.

“Maker…” he rubbed his face, desperately focusing on the next question, the next step “Alright...how did we get here?”

“Mother rescued you. Though it was a very close call. Your injuries were very severe.”

Carver winced slightly as he moved, “Yeah I can tell...strong healing spell though.”

He always knew when healing spells were cast, it left almost an echo of the original wound if it was serious enough, a faint ache that faded as the spell lingered in his system. The Magic cast upon him was strong, he could tell, and the injuries...they had been equally severe.

Morrigan paused, “You know the touch of healing magic?”

“Yeah.” Carver swung his legs out of the bed, “My family were all apostates. My father knew a healing spell or two...but he always told us he wasn’t a natural at it.”

Morrigan cocked her head at him, the gold eyes interested now, “Healing is not one of my natural gifts either. Though I have found it worth the learning. Where are your family now?”

“I don’t know…” Carver admitted, slowly standing, “I can only hope they are safe.”

“It explains why you were so different to your companions.” The dark haired woman moved to the door, “They were all afraid, so afraid...but you...you were simply curious.”

“My fear has to be earned.” Carver groaned, and tugged on a tunic with a sigh, “I try to avoid getting to that point as much as possible.”

Morrigan smirked, opening the door for both of them to leave the small cottage, “I rather enjoy inspiring such a reaction in the foolish. Like your friends.”

Carver smiled slightly, before his smile faded. Ser Jory and Daveth were dead now...as were all the rest of the Wardens. Maker…

He followed Morrigan out into the late afternoon sunshine and took in the sight of her exasperated mother, with her arms folded, and Alistair’s back, as the other man looked out over the marshes.

“See? Here is your other Grey Warden...as I promised.”

Alistair turned swiftly, hiding a wince as he took in the sight of Carver approaching. Instantly he strode over and pulled him into a tight embrace, one that made pain flare throughout Carver’s body. He didn’t pull away however and simply wrapped his own arms tightly around Alistair in return until they both stepped back, “You’re alive...I thought…”

“Hawke’s are too stubborn to die easily,” Carver gave him a small comforting smile, before looking toward Morrigan’s mother, “Though I believe I owe it to your quick intervention...and magic.”

She looked amused, “Indeed, lad. Although your resistance almost cost you your life. A few moments more...and this could all have been very different.”

Carver frowned, magical resistance again...

“This doesn’t feel real,” Alistair whispered, hand gripping Carver’s arm firmly, “If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, you and I would be dead on top of that tower.”

Carver nodded, chest aching from the residual pain from the crossbow bolts that had punched through his armour.

“I know..” He shook his head, sighing softly as he looked over at Morrigan’s mother, who had the same intelligent golden eyes, “And I fear I will sound ungrateful...but why?”

The woman chuckled, “We cannot have all of the Grey Wardens of this land dying at once. There is a Blight...and last I checked it is the Grey Wardens duty to unite the Kingdom to meet a Blight yes?”

Carver nodded, but it was a heavy and resigned gesture, “It’s going to be hard to do...after the Teyrn’s actions.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Alistair’s voice had a desperate, hard edge to it, “Why would he do it?”

“Now that is a good question,” Morrigan’s mother murmured, “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature, you will do well to remember it, for I fear it won’t only be the Darkspawn standing in your path. In any case, perhaps he simply sees the Darkspawn as an army to outmaneuver, to construct pretty strategies to outwit. He may not see the evil behind this scourge is the true threat.”

“The Archdemon,” Alistair’s face paled, “Duncan...Duncan always said it had to be a Warden who had to defeat the Archdemon. That it was vital...but he didn’t tell me why…”

“Teyrn Loghain is a hero to the people,” Carver clenched his jaw, his heart aching again, “He has been for many years, since the Occupation ended. If he has decided to dismiss the Darkspawn it will be very hard to rally support against his word, especially if he’s ruling...or his daughter the Queen is.”

“If Arl Eamon knew about it...he’d never stand for it. He was Cailan’s uncle...and I know him. He’s a good man.” Alistair insisted.

Carver frowned, the name was familiar, teasing at the back of his head until suddenly…

“He wasn’t at Ostagar…” he said slowly, remembering the conversation that first day in the ruins, “he sent a message to the King, through Duncan, that he could be there in a week if they needed him.”

“He still has all his men.” Alistair bit his lip, “We’d need them against the Blight.”

“Or the Teyrn. This could be civil war if he’s trying for the crown,” Carver’s stomach rolled, “Can we do this?  _ Should  _ we do this? We’re Wardens...not nobles. The games they play for the crown aren’t a Warden’s duty.”

“We need to defeat the Blight, or Ferelden will end up like the Anderfels. And Loghain..who knows what he was thinking.” Alistair’s face crumpled, “Maker…”

Carver frowned, and turned towards the woodland.

“The Blight is the main problem.” he folded his arms, needing the comfort of the gesture, “And that means we’re going to need an army...

The sounds of the birds and beasts reminded him of the journey into the Korcari wilds, and something about it teased at the corner of his memory. The darkspawn blood for the Joining and...the treaties.

His hand flew down to his belt, but nothing was there. Looking up he saw Morrigan’s mother smirk at him before he took off back to the cabin, tugging his belt with its pouches free of his armour, sitting as it was by the foot of the small bed.

Folded up in the largest pouch were the treaties. Duncan hadn’t taken them from him, had left them in his care, presumably until after the battle was over. Now they were his, theirs.

Triumphantly he strode back out into the woods.

“We have allies.” he brandished the treaties, and grinned savagely as Alistair’s eyes widened, “We can call on Mages, Dwarves and Elves to help us defeat the Blight...we’re going to need them all to defeat the Darkspawn.”

“Grey Wardens have always stood against the Blight...even in the darkest of times, and right now...you and I are the Grey Wardens.” Alistair looked at him, and for a moment they held each other's gazes, shaken by the enormity of the task ahead, “So...are we really doing this?” Alistair asked.

“We have to.” Carver tucked the treaties away, “No matter what happened at Ostagar...it doesn’t change that the Blight is here...that the Archdemon will soon be wreaking terrible destruction on Ferelden.” he clenched his teeth, before adding, “I’m not going to let that happen. We’re the Grey Wardens now...we’re just going to have to figure it out as we go.”

“It sounds like you are ready,” Morrigan’s mother smiled thinly, “You must succeed Wardens, if you do not...Thedas will fall to a darkness that can never be banished.”

There was a note of certainty in her voice that made the hairs on the back of Carver’s neck stand up. His father had often told him, and his siblings, stories of powerful magical beings that could pierce the mysteries of the future, broad sweeps of the brush, inevitable patterns that were as inexorable as the tides, even if the pieces around the board changed.

“We appreciate your warning…” Carver bowed his head to her slightly, “But we have been rude not to ask your name.”

“Names are pretty but essentially useless.” the woman gave him a small, sly smile, “The Chasind call me Flemeth...that should do.”

“Flemeth?” Alistair jolted, edging back slightly, “The Flemeth? Maker...Daveth was right...you are the Witch of the Wilds.”

“We knew she was a powerful mage,” Carver interrupted swiftly, “It doesn’t matter. Thank you...Flemeth.”

“Clever lad,” She moved forward and lightly touched his cheek with her cold fingers, “Those touched by the hand of fate have a hard road lad. You were always meant for more…” she lowered her hand slightly, “I have one piece of advice. Do not hold yourself back from your companions. It will light a fire no darkness can extinguish, a brotherhood that will sustain you in the darkest of times. Then they will be your light.”

He bowed his head, and she smirked, “You have a hard path ahead, Warden. It is a good thing you are unafraid of hard work.”

A grin stretched across his lips for a moment before Morrigan strolled over to their group, “Well then, are we having two guests for supper, or none.”

“Neither,” Flemeth chuckled wickedly, “For you will be going with them, girl.”

“You...what!?” Morrigan’s voice was sharp, “Mother!”

“We don’t…” Alistair floundered, “That’s not…”

Carver’s blue gaze met Flemeth’s once more, and he remembered the eerie feeling of her voice speaking of the future. 

They would need Morrigan. 

“You are most welcome to join us,” he informed the young woman, looking away from her mother to see her own conflicted expression, “But it’s going to be a rough trip.”

“Mother...I didn’t…”

“I know…” Flemeth smiled at her daughter, but there was a sadness to it, “But they must succeed Morrigan. And if they do not...everything will be consumed. Even I…”

Morrigan swallowed, “I’ll go get my things.”

“Carver…” Alistair warned, sounding uncertain, but Carver simply shook his head at him.

“Wardens...I give you that which is the most precious thing in my life. My daughter. She can be of great help to you...if you allow her to.” Flemeth kept her voice low. “I leave her in your care.”

“We cannot guarantee her safety.” Carver warned her, as Morrigan headed back across the grass, a bag on her shoulders, “But I will do my best.”

“Yes…” Flemeth smiled slowly, “I know.”

* * *

That night they slept uneasily among the trees. 

They couldn’t risk a fire, Darkspawn having flooded the Wilds having poured through the natural gateway of Ostagar. 

Carver sat awake, keeping watch, even as his mind raced as fast as it could in its sluggish state.

The enormity of the task ahead was something he couldn’t fathom, so he pushed it away, along with his feelings about Teyrn Loghain and the battle of Ostagar…

Except he couldn’t stop thinking about the Wardens they’d lost.

He thought of the huge Gregor, cheerful and loud, but skilled and fierce with a weapon in his hands.

He thought of the cheeky red headed Frey, the haughty Palanthir, blond, cheerful Bryndon, staid and solemn Vilden.

He thought of Loghain, the man and the legend, the hero he’d grown up idolising.

He thought about the wicked Dandin, so full of life and mischief.

_ I expect to see you at the Victory drinks afterwards. _

His eyes burned, and his throat closed up like a vice. But the tears didn’t fall.

He didn’t even cry.

He simply shivered, again and again and again, until the new day dawned and the three of them set off once more, heading north.

He didn’t have time to grieve.

They had a Kingdom to save.


	7. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what about the other Hawkes?

It was dawn before they could even think about stopping.

Mother was exhausted, her limbs heavy and breath shivering in her chest, and Garrett looked like he’d aged a year in only a day. 

Lothering was far behind them now.

As was Carver.

Bethany felt her throat close up at the thought of her brother, her twin, staying behind to buy them time. Was he alive? Dead? Captured or hurt?

Surely she would know if he was gone from this world, surely she would feel it.

He was alive, she was sure of it. Because, if she was wrong...well that was too much to bear right now.

They stopped for the night and their mother fell asleep almost instantly, bundled in a cloak they’d managed to grab as they’d fled.

Bethany and Garrett eyed each other across the fire.

Neither of them knew how to start.

“We need a plan.” Garrett breathed, rubbing a hand through his hair, “Carver...may be unable to catch up to us.”

“Don’t say that,” Bethany hissed back, and her fingers tightened on the staff her father had made for her, “He can’t be dead.”

“He might be.” Garrett’s voice was unyielding, “Or he might have been captured. We can’t wait out here for him anyway. If he can find us, so can the Templars.”

“You want to  _ leave  _ him?” Bethany was aghast. She knew her brothers often struggled against one another with Garrett being such a dynamic personality and Carver longing for so much more than they could offer. But to leave him? Bad enough that they had left him to protect the escape. Leaving him behind entirely...well that might mean she’d never see her twin again.

“We have to Bethany,” Garrett’s voice was heavy and he shook his head determinedly, “If we don’t get away, we run the risk of the Templars hunting us down properly.”

“He might be in danger! He might be hurt…” Bethany got to her feet, unable to sit there a moment longer, “How can we…”

“Because I know what Carver would want us to do.” Garrett insisted, staying seated and looking up at her with those dark eyes, “He would want me to make sure you and mother were safe. No matter the cost.”

“The cost is our  _ brother _ !” Bethany felt her voice rise a little and quickly reigned it back in, “That’s not a price I’m willing to pay…”

“We already paid it,” Garrett was ruthless, “We paid it when we left him behind to protect our escape.”

“ _ You _ decided that!” Bethany pointed at him accusingly, “You waited until I helped mother through the tunnel and then when you came out you told me Carver wasn’t coming.”

“It was his choice.” Garrett insisted, folding his arms across his chest, “He insisted, and when I refused to go, he...well he yelled at me, and he was right to. He was the only one of us who could have hoped to hold off the Templars.”

“We should have just gone-”

“No!” Garrett’s avowal was swift and cutting, “The Circle isn’t somewhere I’d want us to go. And they’d separate us, you know that. Family aren’t allowed in the Circle.”

That was true. If she’d gone to the Circle she’d never have seen Mother again, never seen Garrett...never seen Carver.

At least this way there was still a chance.

“The choice is done now,” her older brother insisted softly, “Carver stayed, and he bought us the time. What matters is what we do now.”

“We could go to Kirkwall,” Their mother said softly from the cloak and both of them looked over to see her dark eyes wet with tears, “We could go to Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall?” Garrett looked a little alarmed.

“There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, mother.” Bethany shook her head, “And Carver would never look for us there. Bad enough if he has to search Ferelden without having to look across the sea as well.”

“But we have family there, and an estate.” her mother shook her head, “We have very little now darling.”

“I know that,” Bethany struggled with her words, “But if we go there...I think we’ll never see Carver again.”

Garrett looked torn, “How about this. We’ll head north to Denerim. We can get a ship out from there, and also we can hide among all the other people. Then we’ll find out news about Carver.”

It wasn’t perfect but Bethany knew, reluctantly, that no solution would be.

“Denerim then,” she agreed softly and sighed as their mother nodded too, curling up to sleep. “Maker help us all…”

* * *

They were in the town of Vintiver when they heard the first talk about the boy who’d killed the Templars.

“Took down too many to count before they brought ‘im down.” a gruff man, with the dusty travelling clothes of a trader, grunted to the barkeep as Bethany and Garrett stared at each other, listening as hard as they could, “Protectin’ apostates, they said.”

“I heard t’was his lover.” a thin blond man interjected, “Apostate witch.”

“Nah…” the gruff man swallowed a gulp of ale, “Man in Lothering said it was his family, siblings.”

“What happened to ‘im?” the barkeep asked, asking the question the Hawke siblings so desperately wanted to hear.

“Last I heard they were going to execute him,” The gruff man said, “I left the day before...but they were goin’ ‘t ‘ang him at dawn.”

Light-headedness swamped over Bethany, terror, and horror and grief all swirling in her gut at the thought her twin had been hung at the gallows tree.

Garrett’s brown eyes were huge and haunted in his face, echoing her distress.

“‘Nah,” the blond man shook his head, pleased to have the information this time, “They ‘ad the rope round ‘is neck...and then the Grey Wardens came.”

“Wardens?” The barkeep turned to him, “What did they want with ‘im.”

“They  _ recruited  _ him.” the blond man informed him with relish and Bethany stared at Garrett again, “‘es a Warden now. With the army.”

“‘Spose they wanted to use that blade of ‘is against the Darkspawn.” The bartender nodded, satisfied with the story, “Did y’get a name?”

“Hawke.” Both of the traders chorused, before chuckling lightly and Bethany dug her nails into Garrett’s thigh. 

They paid for their drinks and raced out of the tavern, hurrying to the forests, before they let go and let their hysterical laughter, and tears ring out, until they fell into each others arms and sobbed themselves out.

“He’s alive…” Bethany whimpered, “I knew he had to be but…”

“I know.” Garrett held her just as tightly, “I couldn’t help but fear…”

“He’s at Ostagar.” Bethany gripped his arm, “Should we go?”

Garrett looked torn, “If it was just you and me...yes, in a heartbeat.”

“But mother…” 

They stared at each other, torn.

“We know where he is.” Bethany whispered, “What if he dies? We know they’re fighting Darkspawn down there.”

“Yes but...he’s a Grey Warden now.” Garrett barked a laugh, “Carver! Our Carver...a Grey Warden...can you believe it?”

She could. 

Unlike Garrett, who’d always erred on the negative side about Carver’s abilities and driven nature, she’d always known what her twin was capable of. She’d often felt guilty over the years, for holding him back, from stopping him from excelling and drawing the attention he so deserved.

Garrett had always drawn attention with his charm, but although Carver lacked that affable, charming ability to make people like him, he knew that people watched her twin as much as they did Garrett. He had an air of something, endearing perhaps. He was goofy, and friendly, and yes...quick to take offence, but he was also quick to forgive.

At least when it wasn’t Garrett.

She knew Carver better than anyone else in the world…

Or at least...she had…

Would all of this have changed that?

“We should go.”

“Bethany…” Garrett sighed, “It’s going to be a mess down there...a giant mess. They’re fighting battles...what can we do? We’re Mages. If we cast any spells we’ll be hauled off to the Tower. If we don’t...well...um…”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Sister...they’re an army...and armies don’t have much care for the feelings of women they encounter.” Garrett’s face is serious, “I would die rather than let anything happen to you but...in an army camp…?”

Bethany knew he was right, deep in her bones she knew.

“We should stay...close by.” 

“Close by?” Garrett frowned at her and she hurried to explain.

“We stay in a village until the Darkspawn battles are done, then we find Carver…”

“It’s risky staying so close to Lothering. The town is on the highway, that’s where the army will march through.

Bethany frowned at him and he sighed gustily.

“Alright...back we go.”

* * *

The town of Talreath, barely a day’s ride from Vintiver, back down the Imperial highway, was very small, with only a small chapel with a single Sister of the chantry to serve it but it was a friendly place, with a tiny inn to rest and relax. 

The people of the town were kind, and swiftly gave them work, desperate for helping hands now that so many men had gone south to fight the Darkspawn.

Sadly they were only there for a few days before everything went wrong.

* * *

Fire blazed from Bethany’s hands as she covered their retreat, the Darkspawn making awful, slavering noises as they seethed on the other side of the blocked path.

Turning, she looked up the path towards Garett, who was helping their mother.

She looked exhausted, already, and the farmlands and Wilds were overrun with Darkspawn. They were going to have to run through scrubland and fields, if not the Wilds themselves and they weren’t going to be able to stop, not for a long time.

Terror clutched at Bethany’s chest. How were they going to get their mother out of this, they were two mages, who were having to cast more now than they ever had. Soon they would run out of mana...and then…

This time there was no Carver to back them up.

Garrett looked back at her, and she could see the worry in his dark eyes, the fear that echoed her own, and she knew they were in trouble. If Garrett was scared…

They kept running, what else could they do?

No one knew what had happened, Talreath was isolated enough that news was slow to reach them. The only warning they’d had was a wounded soldier staggering into the town, screaming about the Darkspawn coming, and panic had swept through.

Bethany hurried them around a corner and came to an abrupt halt as they came face to face with a woman in tattered, half shed armour and a man, in the dress of a Templar.

“You won’t be able to go that way,” The woman said, in a voice that rang with authority, her green eyes haggard in her face, “Darkspawn are everywhere.”

“Same with the way we came,” Garrett looked alarmed now, “Talreath is overrun.”

“Maker have mercy…” The Templar looked at the woman, who looked back, just as anxious as them. They had clearly planned to shelter in the town, hoping it was safe, but that was not to be.

“We’ll have to go across the fields,” Garrett decided, still looking anxious, “It’s exposed but…”

“There aren’t a lot of options,” The red headed woman nodded, “Sounds good, we’ll follow you. I’m Aveline Vallen, and this is my husband Ser Wesley.”

Garrett and Bethany shared a look, uneasy about the Templar’s presence, even as they knew the couple’s blades would be welcome.

“Garrett and Bethany, and this is our mother Leandra,” Garrett introduced them, omitting the name Hawke, which they now knew had gained some notoriety with their younger brother. Better to be careful, especially with a Templar.

The group headed off, uneasy and wary, but determined to push on.

They were ambushed outside of a barn, Darkspawn pouring from the apple orchards, shrieking their terrible cries.

It was a desperate battle, with their backs to the solid barn, fire burning in Bethany’s hands as she kept darkspawn at bay with staff and spell.

And in the wake of victory, the Templar turned to them, his previously friendly face set in hard lines, “Mages. Apostates. Keep your distance.”

Garrett immediately set himself between Bethany and the Templar, face shifting into stony hardness.

Bethany shook her head, “Is this the time? Really?”

“My duty is clear.” The Templar insisted, hand gripping a wound made by a Darkspawn’s slashed blade, “The Order dictates.”

“Wesley…” Aveline sighed, but her husband ignored it.

“The Order dictates.”

“I couldn’t give a flying Darkspawn shit what the Order dictates.” Garrett informed him, “We’re in a desperate situation, we can hate each other when we’re free of the Darkspawn.”

“Sensible.” Aveline nodded and tugged Wesley back, even as the man sighed, relenting, “Let’s keep moving.”

Bethany kept an eye on him nonetheless, and she saw his dark eyes flicking between her and Garrett too.

None of them were comfortable, but for now, they had greater concerns.

* * *

Somehow Bethany got separated from Garrett.

They’d stumbled into another town, in the midst of ravagement by the Darkspawn and it was complete chaos. In the seething of running men, women and children, screaming and crying, animals fleeing and Darkspawn seething, Bethany lost sight of her brother, and her mother. She lost sight of Aveline Vallen’s distinctive red hair, and Wesley’s Templar amour. She lost all of them in the crush, and when she got knocked down and almost pounced on by a Darkspawn, she knew she had to get out.

Her heart ached, and thundered with fear at the thought that she was now alone, no big brother to protect her, no twin to stand between her and danger.

She was alone.

And she was still alone when she finally stopped, deep in the forest.

Slowly she climbed into a tree, and used a thick vine to tie herself to the branch and trunk. There, exhausted and heartsick, she fell asleep.

* * *

In the cold light of morning, Bethany was at a loss as how to proceed.

Her mother and Garrett would be heading for Denerim, but after the attacks, Bethany isn’t sure of her ability of get there on her own, an apostate mage. But that would be true of anywhere she could go.

Should she go to Denerim...or…?

She fingered the small pouch of coins at her hip.

Did she dare to go on her own? To seek out and search for Carver? What had happened at Ostagar? The presence of Darkspawn here in the fringes of the Wilds told her that something must have gone wrong...but was Carver alive? She needed to know.

It was the foolhardy choice, if she was sensible she would go to Denerim and look for Garrett and mother. But her heart called her away, back down the Imperial Highway. 

So when it became light enough, she strode out, away from Denerim, and towards the crossroads. 

She had a twin brother to find.


	8. You Are Somehow Furious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach Lothering...and encounter trouble

_ They tell me, shaking their heads: _

_ 'You should be kinder... You are somehow-furious.' _

_ I used to be kind.  _

_ It didn’t last long. _

**Fury by Yevgeny Yevtushenko**

* * *

Two days into their journey Morrigan and Carver got into a blistering row.

“The town of Lothering has a number of advantages, particularly because it boasts a tavern!” Morrigan shouted, pointing a finger at him dramatically, “At the moment we are like a group of foolish children, blundering in the dark, in the hopes that we will find the doorway.”

“We- oh for the Maker’s sake,” Carver grabbed her finger as she jabbed at his nose again, “We can’t go to Lothering!”

“You have yet to give me a suitable answer as to why not!” Morrigan flared at him, not pulling her finger back, but glaring at him heatedly, “Tis foolish to reject a good option for no other reason save fancy!”

“It’s not fucking fancy!” Carver swore back, throwing his hands up, and releasing her finger in the process. He looked over to Alistair, hoping for some backup, after all Alistair knew why going back to Lothering was a terrible idea. But the other man just stared silently into the fire, seemingly oblivious to the argument going on above him. “If we go there, chances are we’ll get lynched. Happy?”

Morrigan paused, before turning to face him again, “You have knowledge of this place?”

“Yeah,” Carver sighed, rubbing his face, “I lived there, for the last decade. Until Ostagar.”

She eyed him steadily, “They would not be happy to see you once more?”

Carver barked a laugh, “To put it mildly, no. We didn’t leave on good terms.”

Her head nodded slowly, but her next words were steady, “We still have to go. It is the best option, even with your...predicament. We need information.” Carver hesitated, and she pressed on, “I can be a silent guide if you wish, but I think it foolish to ignore good advice simply because it does not suit you.”

“And if they try to arrest us?”

“Then we defend ourselves.” Morrigan snorted, “Tis no difference if it is the people of Lothering, your Loghain fellow, or the Darkspawn. You fight to defend yourself, or you lie down and await your death.”

Carver groaned, “This is going to be unpleasant.”

That prompted a light chuckle from his companion as she sat once more around their meagre campfire, “Indeed. Should be quite amusing.”

* * *

Carver was feeling less than amused as he tugged Alistair and Morrigan to the side just inside the town proper.

“Why haven’t they evacuated yet?” Alistair hissed at him, and Morrigan twisted to look at him with contempt on her face.

“Decided to rejoin us have you? Had enough of your self indulgent, maudlin sulking? Opted not to fling yourself on your blade in a fit of grief?” She sneered at him, and Alistair’s mouth popped open in outrage, “How  _ very  _ generous of you.”

Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

“Is my being upset so hard for you to understand?” Alistair hissed back and Carver pinched the bridge of his nose, “Have you never lost someone you care for? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I finished laughing?” Morrigan retorted back, with flawless timing.

“Right, very creepy. Forget I asked,” Alistair shuddered and turned away from her to meet Carver’s gaze.

It had been frustrating for the last week, dodging Darkspawn patrols, warning towns as much as they could, all with a silent, and resoundingly unhelpful Alistair trudging along behind him. 

He’d wanted to shout, and shake him, maybe even punch him. But he’d held back. 

Everyone handled grief differently, be they the poorest pauper or the wealthiest king. Loss was its own burden on the heart. And it wasn’t fair to judge him, simply because his grief needed more time.

But at the same time he wanted to scream at him, because how was this fair on him either? He’d been a Grey Warden since the night before the Battle, he knew nothing about the Order and what to expect. His dreams were haunted by a monster that  _ screamed  _ at him like it saw him.

He hadn’t been able to stop running since Lothering, to think and worry about his family, to process all the ways his life had changed, and the losses he’d suffered. And now?

Now he had to lead, because there was no one else. 

He had to step up. 

So he simply folded his arms and gave Alistair a steady look.

“You  _ have  _ been quiet Alistair…” 

The fair haired man shuffled slightly, and his eyes dropped to the ground.

“I know...I just...needed time to think. Duncan...the King...the Grey Wardens...Loghain. It all still doesn’t seem real.”

“It is.” Carver adjusted his armour, and sighed, “We just have to do what we can with it. Wishing won’t bring them back.” Morrigan huffed, and he shot her a look, “Both of you need to stop, I get that you don’t like each other, but so help me...this is going to be a shitfest with or without you two hating each other. We need to be a team. So are you with me? Or are we heading back to the Highway?”

“I’m with you,” Alistair assured him earnestly, and Carver looked at Morrigan who nodded.

“Good. Alright...let’s go.”

* * *

It took less than 5 minutes for word to spread.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” Alistair muttered as silent townspeople began to fill the streets as they walked towards the tavern.

“What was it, exactly, that you did?” Morrigan whispered from the other side, her fingers tightening around her staff, “You never said.”

“He aided and abetted the escape of Apostates.” A Templar Knight broke through the crowd and strode towards them, unhelmeted so that they could see his chisled face and dark hair pulled back into a tail, “You shouldn’t have come back here Hawke.”

“I’m here on Grey Warden business, Sir Talrew.” Carver held his ground, and let his voice carry to the people standing around, “I suggest you stand aside and let us go about our work. The sooner we finish, the sooner we’ll be gone.”

Instead of calming them however, his words made crowds muttering swell, like a swarm of angry hornets.

“A faithless criminal and a traitor,” Talrew shook his head, “Maker have mercy on you Hawke. Teyrn Loghain’s told the whole of Ferelden about the actions of the Grey Wardens at Ostagar, of your Treason. The Grey Wardens killed the King at Ostagar, and betrayed Ferelden.”

Carver gaped at him.

Alistair however managed to find his words, “Treason?! We would never-” He took a step forward and Carver’s hand shot out to grip his arm, “The Grey Wardens died alongside the King at Ostagar, fighting the Blight. Loghain abandoned them all to die!”

The murmuring in the crowd rose to an unsettling level.

“What he says is true,” Carver met Talrew’s implacable gaze, “You can hate me for my views on Magic all you like, but the fact of the matter is that Grey Wardens fight the Blight, no matter who they are, or where they come from,” he gestured at the town around him, “The Darkspawn won at Ostagar. And they are coming this way. No army stands in their path.”

He stepped forward and lowered his voice, “Why haven’t you gotten these people out of here?”

Talrew sneered at him, “We have a distinct shortage of Templars.”

Carver shook his head, “It won’t matter. The horde isn’t far behind us. Whatever preparations you’re doing? Make them faster. Or you’ll run out of time.”

Ser Talrew eyed him for a long moment, gaze shrewd, “You hid yourself very well little Hawke.”

“I had to. For my family.” He held the others’ brown eyes, “I’d do whatever it took to keep them safe.”

“Even kill the King?”

Carver’s lip curled, “You don’t know anything about it. The Grey Wardens did not kill the king.” His voice rose so all could hear, but his blue eyes never left Talrew, “We are loyal to Ferelden. It is Teyrn Loghain who has abandoned all sanity. He quit the field at Ostagar, leaving his King and the other Wardens to perish, marching his army north. Why? I cannot say, I honestly do not know.” he clenched his fist, “But the fact remains, is that that’s what he did. And now the Darkspawn sweep up from the south.”

“Liar!” someone shouted in the crowd, but the muttering remained, the people unsure.

“Why would I lie!” Carver shouted back, gesturing with an expansive sweep of his arm, “Why would the Wardens kill the King? What possible motivation, could we have had? He was committed to fighting the Blight! Our primary purpose and goal is to keep you safe from the Darkspawn. Why would we let them win!”

“Why would the Teyrn-?”

“His daughter is the Queen is she not?” someone else interjected, and Carver saw the mood of the crowd shift, no longer mutinous and itching for retribution, but conflicted.

“We should get moving,” Morrigan murmured and he nodded, beginning to walk past Talrew, before he noticed the man’s eyes locked on Morrigan herself.

He reached out, and Carver reacted, quick and sharp, grabbing his wrist and gripping it tightly.

“Find her less interesting, Talrew.”

“More Apostates, Hawke?” the man sneered, “Lie down with dogs and you’ll get up with fleas.”

“Better than being the pig in the sty next door,” Carver shoved him away and strode away, ushering Morrigan ahead, as Alistair, for all his dislike of her, flanked her other side. 

Looking back once, he saw Talrew eyeing them shrewdly, and he felt his neck prickle with unease.

“We should not linger,” Alistair hissed at them both as they hurried to the door of the Tavern, “Let’s get the information we came for, and what supplies we can, and get out of here.”

“For once, we are in total agreement.” Morrigan’s fingers lightly brushed over the part of his arm uncovered with armour, “You were not mistaken in your concerns about this place. We should make haste to leave it without delay.”

Carver relaxed a little and shot them both a small smile, “You’re right. Let’s get this done. Maybe we can at least have a drink before we have to run for our lives again.”

They walked into the room and instantly ten heavily armoured men got to their feet.

“...or not.” Carver remarked, and felt Morrigan slide behind him.

“Look what we have here lads!” A man with mahogany coloured skin and a sneer around his mouth gestured, “Grey Wardens. The very two we were asked to seek.”

“This can’t be good,” Alistair muttered to Carver out of the corner of his mouth.

Carver had to agree.

“The handsome blond lad, and the Hawke, with the blue eyes.” The man strolled up to them, and sipped from a tankard, before placing it heavily on a wooden table, “Wearing Grey Warden armour.”

“Loghain’s men,” Alistair nodded at them, and Carver glanced at him, “See the green dragon on the black field? That’s his sigil.”

“Shit.” Carver whispered.

“Haven’t we been asking around town after these two all day? Everyone said they hadn’t seen anyone like them.” Another soldier sneered, and the first growled.

“It seems we were lied to.”

“Gentlemen.” A smooth voice, like the softest song, broke into the conversation and Carver froze. It was a familiar voice, and a moment later, there she was, Sister Leliana, with her soft, short, copper hair, lovely eyes and bowed lips. 

“Surely there is no need for trouble? The inn is hardly the place to settle such disputes. And besides, these may just be more simple travellers seeking refuge.”

The man scoffed, and stepped threateningly forward, “Get out of the way Sister, you stand with these Traitors and you’ll get the same as them.”

“The only traitor here is the man you serve!” Alistair barked back and a moment later it was chaos.

“No magic,” Carver hissed at Morrigan, not able to look back to see her, and instead he charged into the fray as the guardsmen pounced on Alistair.

Carver ducked a flying table and hesitated before he drew his sword. There were a lot of townspeople in here, and despite them hurrying to the side of the room, they had yet to leave. His sword was difficult in such an enclosed space, so he simply smashed one of the men with a full pewter tankard and swiped his spear.

The brawl was short but vicious.

And if anything it was the first time Carver really felt comfortable in weeks. Bar brawls weren’t something he’d commonly been a part of, but he’d seen a few, and he and Garrett had often scrapped with their fists.

He tripped heavily armoured men, used tables, chairs and drinking and eating utensils indiscriminately as the townspeople hollered, and when he saw his moment he took it, fist curling into the front of the leader’s tunic, above the front of his armour and shoved him down onto the table.

“Yield,” he barked, voice carrying above the fray, “Or I’ll break your sodding arm!”

“I yield!” the man wailed and Carver twisted sharply to make him shout, “I YIELD!”

Silence fell behind him, and Carver grinned savagely before he yanked his prisoner up and shoved him into the chair.

“Alright, that’s better,” He loomed over the man, trusting Alistair to take care of the others behind him, “Now, why were you sent here?”

“The Teyrn asked us to deal with two rogue Grey Wardens...that might have survived the Battle.”

Carver glanced around at Alistair, and saw that the blond man’s hands were clenched, gold eyes locked on the Lieutenant before him.

He turned back to his captive, “Why does he want us ‘dealt with’?”

The man blinked up at him, “You’re traitors...Grey Wardens killed the King.”

Behind him Alistair made a noise of pure fury.

Carver held up his hand and knew Alistair wouldn’t interrupt.

“I want you to take a message to your master.”

“Yes ser…” the Lieutenant looked properly chastened by now, “What message?”

Carver lifted his voice so everyone could hear, “I want you to tell Loghain that two Grey Wardens survived his treachery at Ostagar. I want him to know the Darkspawn are still pushing north. Tell him,” he paused and let the man go, “Tell him justice is coming for him.” He stepped back, “Get out.”

The men scrambled from the room as the townspeople jeered and Carver stood there, heart hammering, and head lowered.

“Carver Hawke.” 

Once upon that time that voice had made his heart speed up, made his chest ache with a powerful sweetness and sorrow. But now he opened his eyes and looked at her. Still beautiful, but that special lustre was gone.

A part of him mourned its loss, but more of him was relieved. 

“Sister Leliana.” he turned to face her, “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well.” her smile was sad, “I did not agree with…”

“I know.” he folded his arms, “Thank you for your assistance with this...disturbance.”

Her blue grey eyes sparkled at him warmly, “Of course. I wasn’t always a part of the Chantry you know, many of us lived very colourful lives before turning to religious contemplation.”

Carver felt Morrigan and Alistair approach and turned to run his eyes over them, “You both alright?”

Alistiar nodded, while Morrigan rolled her eyes, “Just grand, thank you.”

He snickered at her quietly and turned back to Leliana, “It was good catching up with you Sister.”

“Wait!” her sudden plea stopped him in his tracks, “Wait...I want to go with you.”

“With us?” Carver turned to look at her, incredulous, “We’re...we’re fighting Darkspawn.”

“I know. That’s why the Maker wants me to go with you.”

Carver paused, “You...what?”

Leliana winced, and her cheeks flared with pink.

“I know...I know that sounds crazy. But it’s true. I had a dream, a vision…”

“More crazy?” Alistair muttered behind him, “I thought we were all full up.”

“I want to help people,” Leliana insisted, stepping forward and locking her grey blue eyes on Carver’s own, “This chaos, the darkness that is spreading this way. The Maker cannot want that. So I wish to help, to join you in defeating the Blight...and any other enemies that stand in the way of such a goal.”

“You know the Teyrn has declared us traitors,” Carver murmured to her, leaning in so only the two of them could hear, “It will be dangerous. If we get caught…”

“You need all the help you can get.” she breathed back, “I am with you, Carver Hawke, and so is the Maker.”

He gave her a wry smile, “I thought I was an enemy of the Chantry.”

She winced and shook her head, “You...you did what was right. The Maker spared you Carver. He knew there was more you had to do.”

A deep sigh and he nodded, “Alright. You’d better go get your things from the Chantry. Alistair?”

His friend stepped into his peripheral vision, “Could you take Leliana to get her things? She’s coming with us?”

“Really?” 

Carver shot him a look and the blond raised his hands, “Okay, okay...come on then…”

As the pair left the Tavern, Morrigan sniffed and stepped up beside him, “That was a foolish choice.”

“Maybe.” he gave her a small crooked smile, “But it may be foolish, and still be the right decision also.”


End file.
